


Somebody That I Used to Know

by Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot



Series: Soul Music [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Characters in Disguise, Dancing, HIV/AIDS, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Not Really Character Death, STDs, Spoilers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Surprise non-Bleach Character - Freeform, Violence, Yaoi, and picks up tidbits from the current arc, follows canon up to Ichigo losing his powers, i guess, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot/pseuds/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>//Now and then I think of when we were together//Like when you said you felt so happy you could die//Told myself that you were right for me//But felt so lonely in your company//But that was love and it's an ache I still remember//</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, minna! Some of you who saw this get posted over on FF.net know this as Part 2, but since it's been over a year since I updated it *hides* I'm going to be re-working the original Part 1 into the new Part 2. So, here you go! Part 1 of Soul Music.
> 
> Mind the tags though, lovelies!! There's some heavy stuff gonna be talked about in this series.

" _Ya make me so happy I could die…_ "

Breathe. Focus on the down beat. Let the rhythm take away the pain. Reach out, grab the pole, spin, gyrate. Ignore the feeling of being eye-fucked. Forget that school starts again in less than seven hours. Breathe. Undo the buttons. Run a hand along the open waistband. Flash a smile that tells them everything and nothing. Twist, fling the sweat off, let it catch the strobe lights. Make love to the props. Breathe. Crawl across the stage. Float away on the guitar riffs. Burn honey eyes, promising delights that will never be filled. Breathe. Last piece, don't fuck it up. Throw it away and take the bills. Breathe. Give them one more flirty wink as you leave the stage. And don't forget: breathe.

Can't breathe!

The curtain closed on a thousand catcalls, and the orange haired youth, just over the age of consent, leaned against the wall praying the throbbing music behind him covered his wheezing coughs that kept him from catching his breath.

"You alright, Strawberry?"

He winced and fought down the fury that typically came with that nickname. It was his persona here and he had to put up with it if he wanted to keep his job. So, he nodded and moved off from the wings, hand still running along the wall for balance. Damn this cold. Losing his powers six months ago had to have affected something, making him more vulnerable to illnesses and such. This was the fourth cold he'd had since January. Maybe that was why he'd—no! He refused to think about it.

Entering the communal dressing room all of the dancers used, he plopped down in the chair that was designated as his. He'd been working at the club for a month; something to get his mind off of the things he didn't want to think about. His dad had been wary, but he was sixteen, able to consent to working jobs like this now. He certainly wasn't going to take some delivery boy job, not after winning the Soul Society's war. He'd seen too much, done too much, to pretend he was a child anymore. So, Goat Face had agreed, and he took up the nickname he hated more than almost any other.

His mirror was decorated with encouragement notes held up in the same shaped clips. The other dancers enjoyed the irony, and after a week or two, he'd come to smirk every time he thought about it. He looked tired. Running a hand through his sweaty, orange spikes he could tell he had a fever again. Those spots on his cheeks only showed up when he had one. Sighing deeply, as there was nothing he could do about it now, he reached for a cloth to wipe the stage makeup off before he put his tee shirt on.

It was late, after three in the morning. The club upstairs had just closed, his performance the crowning jewel of the evening. Saturday would dawn in the next two and a half hours, and two hours after that he had to be at his high school for the extra classes he was taking to balance out the time he'd missed training and working with the Soul Society. Shit, that meant he didn't have time for a nap, and he'd probably have to help his dad with his sisters before his shift at nine that night. At least most of the night he was just waiting tables and could take it easy, but he had three shows to do. Ugh, this was going to be a long day, and telling Goat Face about his fever would just make the man insist Ichigo take the night off, which for his sanity he couldn't do.

Saturdays especially! They'd been their night out. Every Saturday from just before New Year's until he'd caught him a month ago necking with some fruity trollop in a seedy alley not too far from the river bank. Damn it! Now he was thinking about it. The man's newfound humanity was something that Ichigo had never cursed before, but exploring that humanity with every willing body from here to Tokyo was going too far. And Kami only knew what other vices the damned feline had picked up since showing back up in his life after he lost his powers.

"Hey, Berry-kun." A soft almost female voice broke through his daydreaming.

His exhausted orbs glanced up at the second face in his mirror; a pretty cocoa colored male that could have been Yumichika's twin in every other way. "Oh, hey Mocha. How'd the tables go t'night?"

"Not bad, only about a G or two though." The slim male plopped down in the seat next to Ichigo, dressed in short shorts and a skin-tight baby doll tee shirt bearing the club's name and logo in neon letters across both his chest and his ass. He crossed his legs at the knee and frowned, though it looked more like a pout. "Berry-kun, you don't look so good. You sure you're gonna be ok for tonight?"

He was picking up Mocha's shift because the effeminate male had a date with his flavor of the week. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I just gotta grab a nap or something to keep me going 'til tomorrow morning." He flashed a shaky smile.

"Alright, just remember, working yourself to the bone won't bring in more tips, and you'll regret it when you're older." The dusky man cupped his cheek and returned his smile with a note of fondness before standing and walking off unconsciously shaking his hips provocatively.

He shook his head, amused. It only took him another five minutes to get his jeans, tee shirt, sneakers and hoodie on so he'd be ready to head home. It would take him fifteen minutes to cross town if he took the train, but it wouldn't come by the closest station until four thirty, another forty-five minutes from now. He debated just walking to school, but taking a step outside the club's back door, he shivered. Yeah, gonna wait for the train.

"G'night, 'Berry." The bouncer who manned the back door greeted him.

Ichigo waved, putting his headphones in. Since he couldn't keep his mind off of a certain someone earlier, he was in no mood to chit chat with Pineapple. If it wasn't for the different hair color, he'd have sworn the man was Renji. There were a few other subtle differences; his quiet demeanor, the way the man never wore anything with short sleeves, and his avoidance of all things alcohol. But the abrasive temper, the way he styled his hair, even the nickname he'd chosen to go with the theme of the club all screamed similarity with the vibrant redhead from Seireitei.

Soft, dark music pounded into his ears, and unconsciously he matched the beat with his footsteps. He dropped a token from his jeans pocket into the turn-style. The station was empty at this time of the day, not even the businessmen heading to Tokyo were out yet. The stairs leading up to the train itself stole his breath again, resulting in another bout of wet coughing. Shivering, he huddled in the corner of a bench in the frigid early May night air.

"Hey. Ya shouldn't be sittin' here alone at this time o' night." The all too familiar voice broke through the haze of sleep.

The sky was lightening. Crap! He'd dozed off, and missed the train. Then he focused on the tall, well-built male standing over him. "You stalking me now?" He growled.

Blue eyes shifted to the side. "Nah, this is just the line I gotta take ta get ta the warehouse."

He knew that. He cursed mentally, and drew in another breath to spit an insult back. However, the words died on his lips when the frigid air made his infected bronchioles spasm. Planting his feet on the ground, and wrapping his arms around his ribs, he leaned into the fit, eyes closed and letting whatever built up mucus work its way out of his lungs. A glob of greenish goo, tinged with pink, landed between his feet before he could draw a steady breath. He winced at it, green—not good, probably bronchitis then. If he wasn't careful he'd sink into pneumonia.

"Oi. Ya ok, Ichi?" The crystal clear blue eyes were worried.

"What do you want, Grimmjow?" The orangette panted, still holding his ribs with one arm and leaning his head against the cold metal of the terminal wall.

The former Sexta scoffed. "Feh. I saw ya dreamin' here an' thought I'd be neighborly. We're s'posed ta be 'friends', Ichigo." His eyebrows drew together looking over the former Shinigami.

"Yeah, sure. Just like the others right?" His laughter almost made him cough again. Fuck, this being sick shit was for the birds. He shivered again, internally hating that he was being weak in front of Grimmjow.

"Let me take ya ta breakfast, ne?"

A body-warmed leather jacket dropped over the orangette's shoulders, and a perverse part of his brain that he used to attribute to his inner Hollow made him aware that he could easily infect the blunette with his cold just by coughing on the collar of the jacket. Because of that voice he scowled and swallowed the denial that had almost escaped his lips. Instead he closed his eyes again, actually enjoying the contrast of warmth around his shoulders and cold on his burning forehead. As such it was several moments before he could bring himself to croak out, "Yeah, sure, Grimm."

A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him against a broad chest that was too familiar for comfort. He inhaled the scent he'd been missing for four weeks, and tried to pretend that his heart wasn't screaming at him to wrap himself around the body holding him. He vaguely noticed that they were walking down the stairs from the train platform and out a side door to a parking lot where overnight travelers left their vehicles. He frowned as the knowledge that he'd been bullshitted hit him when Grimmjow pulled a set of keys from his pocket and clicked a button, making a dark blue Mitsubishi Lancer flash its lights.

Scowling orange brows leaned up to glare at the strong, angular jaw above him. "You lied to me. Again. How come you have a car?"

"Just get in, Ichi. Yer Dad wanted me ta come get ya. He knows yer sick." The blunette pushed him towards the passenger side door, and though he was glaring he got in. When Grimmjow took his seat behind the wheel, he sighed, "Why're ya beatin' yerself up like this?" His voice was heavy.

The fever must have loosened his tongue because the scathing remark he bit back came out sounding more tired than angry. "Because it's the only way I can get you off my mind." Silence reigned for a little while as the car pulled out of the parking lot and turned towards Ichigo's home with his father and sisters. Then the orangette broke it, "It's Saturday."

"Yeah, I know." Again silence stretched between them. Hands tightened on the wheel. "Ya know…I am sorry, Kitten."

"You aren't allowed to call me that anymore." He was glaring at the driver again. "You lost that privilege when I found that napkin in your pocket. No, maybe you lost it when I found you high as a kite on something on the school roof. Or, maybe it was when I took you back twice in the same month, only to  _smell_  other guys on you." The blunette winced, but Ichigo continued, "Don't talk to me about sorry, Grimmjow. You're only sorry because you can't have me anymore."

The rest of the ride was filled with heavy silence. Pulling up to the Kurosaki Clinic, the orangette didn't even wait for the car to be fully stopped before throwing open the door and diving for freedom. "Ichi-" The door slammed on his words, and the former Espada growled, running a work roughened hand through his unruly blue spikes. He didn't leave yet. He'd been promised answers, and damnit, he was going to get them if he had to wait all day.

Within the house, Isshin Kurosaki watched his son arrive, looking more worn out and tired than any sixteen-year-old should. He mimicked his son's ex just as the door to their home slammed open. He put his goofball face on and deliberately threw a punch at the wall behind the tall eldest child.

"Save it, Dad, I don't have the energy to play this morning." The boy didn't even realize he still had Grimmjow's leather jacket around his shoulders.

The doctor frowned, and dropped the act. "Here, Ichigo. Let me take your temperature and get you something for the cough you're fighting." He turned to enter the attached clinic through a door in the living room. When he returned the orangette was spread out on the couch. His slim shoulders shook as he fought the coughing spasm the change in position triggered. Hmm, maybe it already was pneumonia. Little red flags were waving all through Isshin's medically trained mind, especially when one took in the extreme measures his son's ex had taken to experience human life in the first few months of his reappearance.

He bent over his son, stuck a thermometer in his ear, and pulled his stethoscope out of his pocket with the other hand. By the time the instrument read a temperature of 101.5 the coughing had begun to ease again. Ichigo saw the stethoscope and groaned, sitting up carefully to avoid more coughing. Isshin frowned as he listened to his son's chest.

Honey-brown eyes looked up expectantly, and he sat next to the boy on the couch. "It's definitely bronchitis, but I want to do a chest x-ray to make sure you haven't developed anything worse. You've been coughing for almost two weeks now. Why are you doing this, Ichigo? All to avoid Grimmjow?"

The orangette breathed deeply, reclining against the couch cushions somehow made that easier. "That's part of it. I can't get him out of my head, Dad, but I can't just forgive him either. The numbers I can ignore, and the drugs don't really matter because I know he can't get addicted and won't get in trouble with the cops. But when he comes ho—uh—here and has somebody else's cologne on his clothes, lipstick on his shirt, and hickies I know I didn't place, I just can't sit back and do nothing." He closed his eyes in pain. "He wants to experience life as a Human, well here's lesson number one. It sucks." A few minutes of silence stretched between them as Ichigo simply breathed. "I'm going to head to bed. Please wake me in time for dinner? I have a shift at the club at nine." Then he got off the couch and dragged himself to his room, leaving the jacket next to Isshin.

The dark haired patriarch ran his hand through his hair again, grabbed the jacket, and exited the house to speak with the blunette he knew was still sitting outside. The door of the car opened when the doctor came within speaking distance. He gratefully climbed in, handing the man his jacket back. "You've really put your foot in it, Grimm."

"I know. How is he?" Came the reply without much preamble.

"I think it's pneumonia, but he won't slow down." He shook his head. "It's like his reiatsu burned through his immune system. He's never been this sick before. This is the third time this year that he's come down with bronchitis." The ex-captain's face was drawn. The amicable relationship between the two powerhouses was something of a surprise. The Shinigami had fully expected to hate the Arrancar when he showed up in a gigai. Of course, discovering that somehow his fight with Ichigo had pushed him to the other side of the coin was something of a shock, and Isshin supposed that maybe that had something to do with it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of the past, "How is the mask training going?"

"Pan's respondin' well. It's a little odd seein' mahself as I was as an Adjuchas inside mah head, 'specially since he's inverted. White paws, black armor." Bewildered blue eyes caught dark brown. "Th' real f'ked up part is that his blue fur is orange. Heh. 'S like I can't git away from Ichi no matter what I do. He gives me the same kinda talkin' to when I fuck up too." He shook his head, still not quite used to not having a piece of mask on his cheek. "What d'I do, Doc?"

"I don't know. He needs to heal, both physically and mentally, but I don't think he will until you two sort this out. He's just going to keep pushing himself harder and harder until he finally snaps. I'm just afraid that he won't stop until he's dead. Not having his powers is just one more weight on his already over-burdened shoulders." The doctor scrubbed his face with his hand, staying up waiting for his son to come home was not something he could do easily anymore. "I'm going to see Kisuke today about that idea we had. You sure Pantera's willing to sacrifice her claw to make the sword?"

"O' course! I just have ta work on getting' mah Resurrection back." The blunette's resolve echoed in his eyes. "We're close. I c'n feel it!"


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was below the horizon when Ichigo returned to the world of the awake. He glared when it felt like the world was weighing on his chest, and his arms and legs screamed with liquid fire in every muscle. The part of his mind he used to associate with Zangetsu mentioned that maybe he should call off tonight, but he reasoned that he agreed to take Mocha's shift so he owed it to his co-worker to at least try. Whatever his dad had forced on him hours ago had brought his fever down, and his chest didn't feel quite so itchy inside. He glanced at the clock; he had two hours.

Pulling himself out of bed, he ripped his sweat-drenched tee shirt from his body and dragged his feet to the bathroom. In the hallway he could hear his father and sisters eating dinner. His stomach growled, but he knew what his father would say if he showed his face downstairs. So, he told the organ to shut up and turned on the shower. He shivered at the feeling of the water, but it woke him up a bit.

Back in his room, his muscles still dragged, but he was able to put on a neon green thong, and black vinyl booty shorts that hugged his hips without much trouble. He pulled a baggy pair of jeans, a long-sleeved tee-shirt, and his hoodie over top of his 'working' gear. A spare pair of sneakers in the back of his closet got him ready for the growing darkness outside. He glanced once more at his closed door with a shallow sigh, before climbing out of his window.

It took an hour and forty-five minutes for him to make it through the darkened city to the club. Even the twilight was gone now, but the street was lit up in bright neon blue, pink, green and yellow. The bass poured out into the chilly night air. Saturday night brought all kinds of people to his work place, which meant one thing for the orange-haired dancer: big tips. Oh yeah, tonight would be good, he could feel it.

Skirting the building, he entered through the same door he used to leave a little over 17 hours before. He saw Pineapple out on the floor intimidating some punk that had gotten too close to the stage, and shook his head. Stupid kids. Geez, when'd he become so jaded? No matter, he turned down the narrow hallway to the dressing rooms. He was breathing easier than he had been for weeks, whatever Goat Face had given him really worked!

"Hey, Strawberry!" One of the few female dancers called cheerfully.

Nobody knew anybody's real name, not even the owner of the club who went by the double entendre Candy Man. So, Ichigo grinned, "Evening, Tutti." He took his seat, already removing his hoodie and shirt to don the theme for the night, tuxedos.

Tutti Frutti was a Scene-style girl with a rainbow streaked mop of chunky hair, and always dressed in vibrant, clashing colors. But she had a huge heart. So, she came over to help him get the backless shirt fastened. A pair of shimmer pants were pulled on over his shorts, and a matching jacket completed the outfit just in the nick of time. The announcer's voice over the PA told the pair they had seconds to get up to the stage. Climbing the stairs, Ichigo's breath caught and his hand flew to his chest.

"You ok, huny?" Tutti Frutti frowned, her hand on his back.

He nodded with a smile, forcing the feeling down, and they joined the line-up in the wings. The announcer addressed the club this time, "Ladies and gentlemen, whores and sluts, step right up, behind this curtain is where all your fantasies come to life. This is a place where you can escape! Welcome to CANDY LAND!"

That was their cue, the flashy, JPop-Scene female strutted her stuff, shaking vibrant ruffles and catching the spinning lights on sequins across her costume, leading the double line of black shimmery tuxedo clad dancers down the main stage until she met the pole in the middle of the catwalk. She jumped up in time to the techno music to grasp the pole and spin around upside down. Ichigo led his line of fellow dancers to the side stage along the wall where the patrons could watch the eye candy gyrate from all sides. Across the room the second line mirrored them.

The first song wasn't very long, but the hyped up confectionary laden lyrics introduced their lines. Tutti Frutti did her spins and kicks, keeping the momentum going as the beat changed. The lights went down and the LED lights along Tutti's skirt lit up. The first line, "This is the time to party" triggered a chain reaction as each of the dancers in a line hit a button under their left heels to make a running strobe light effect. It cast them in black and white as the jackets came off to reveal muscular shoulders and bare arms. The stop-motion strobing only high-lighted Tutti's more colorful glow-stick style as she removed the pieces of her costume.

Ichigo's legs trembled with each bass beat that he slammed his heel into his flash switch, but he lost himself in the music. This was the only time during his day where none of the weight of the world he carried pressed down on him. So, even though he could already feel his muscles burning and his chest heaved with the effort to take in enough oxygen, he never felt better.

In a darkened corner of the club, Grimmjow watched his berry, knowing exactly which dancer in the line-up was HIS. He sipped black light reflective alcohol and growled that he could only look, not touch. Around him were several lounging figures.

The music changed again, a growling techno beat as the first of the dancers began to trickle away to change for their individual dances. More LED lined costumes joined Tutti Frutti, and again Ichigo's line of dancers along both walls kept the beat with strobe lights, now having lost the pants to those fake tuxedos. This was the last of the floor show, after this song the individual dancers would begin.

So, Grimmjow enjoyed the secrecy of being able to ogle his favorite flavor without making himself known. The group around him were just as enthralled with the flashing lights and revealing skin. Most of them were either high as a kite, or stoned out of their minds. One or two still had their partial wits about them, and these sat closest to the blunette. The only drug in his system, as it had been for the entire month since his berry had started dancing for pay, was a minute trace of alcohol. He'd win him back, even if that meant he had to give up all of the things he'd discovered since becoming a Visored in the Living World. He took a pull on his drink, smirking as the last of the dancers filtered out.

A quick change into a new costume between sets brought the Strawberry back out onto the main stage. The piano at the beginning of his first individual song for the night gave him the entrance he needed to catch his breath. As soon as the drums and synth cut in he was gyrating and commanding the audience with his body. He strut to the pole, without ever removing a piece of clothing, to spin in a vibrant whirlwind with the drum roll. He fell back, holding on with one hand and reaching over his head to the edge of the stage, rubbing the crotch of the skin-tight white bell bottoms up and down the pole in time with the music. Lifting a leg, he wrapped it around the pole bending his spine to reveal toned abdomen between his crop top and his pants, the strings of his thong curving over his hip bones. The second time the piano took over he was back up on his feet, this time with his ass against the pole sans bell bottoms, treating it like a partner at a rave. The second drum roll was a ripple through his body as he reached behind him with a leg, the whole time working his shirt off to display silver rings through his apricot nipples.

The lights cut out and a voice came through the speakers, "Pause for dramatic effect." A spotlight flipped on to show his hand, holding the black boy shorts, that fell when the beat came back in sync with the flashing lights around the edge of the stage. This revealed Ichigo, on his knees in nothing but the lime green thong, straddling the pole. He gyrated his hips, working himself back to his feet with the synth machine. As the piano began a third time, he wrapped his body around the pole and sank to his hands and knees to prowl like a jungle cat to the edge of the stage, each placement of hand or knee a note on the piano. The last few notes brought him back to his knees, bending backwards with his spandex clad package highlighted for the crowd. His back met the stage when a soft voice asked, "Too loud?" And the lights cut out on the final piano notes.

Surrounded by darkness, Grimmjow could hardly keep his tongue in his mouth. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. Oh, yeah, that was his berry alright. All sex and innocence wrapped up in one delicious package. He gripped his glass tightly, and almost didn't hear the voice in his ear.

"Grimm, I've been looking for you everywhere." The pierced African brunette with hot pink streaked dreadlocks gripped his shoulders tightly. Was the kid strung out on something? In the darkness between shows he couldn't tell.

"What's up, 'Cril?" He asked, using the liquid of his drink to wet his tongue, and the burn of drinking it too fast to distract himself from the tightness of his jeans.

Hands decorated with rings on every finger grabbed his face frantically in the dark. "Dude, Gemma got the red card from the  _motsotsi_! She got gone yesterday!"

"Ja real?" One of the others around him asked, fear obvious in his voice. The whole group was listening now.

"Ya! She done got her boarding pass few weeks 'go." The hands gripped him tighter. "Tell me ya worn a rainbow when ya doinked her, man!"

Blue eyebrows drew together. These people had no idea what he was, but he was as ignorant of their slang and phraseology as well. He gathered that whatever a 'red card' and a 'boarding pass' were that his understanding of the terms was different than what his friends meant. So, using the split second to guess at the 50/50 chance he had at calming his friend, he said, "Yeah, o' course. 'M not stupid."

"Good. I wouldn' want ya and yer boytoy ta join tha departure lounge." Cril relaxed too soon because the relief was broken a moment later.

A scream cut through the anticipatory silence when the lights came up to reveal Ichigo's prone body in the same position as he had used to end his dance. At first Grimmjow just assumed the kid had popped out, but a casual scan of the reiatsu in the area had him on his feet.

"Oi! That's ya boytoy, ain't it, Grimm?" Cril asked from behind his shoulder as they moved quickly through the crowd.

The blunette was on the stage faster than anyone could blink, and had his sensitive ear to Ichigo's chest. He looked down at the unconscious face, lips slightly parted. "He's breathing!"

The dancer who'd screamed had somebody's cell phone talking to 9-1-1. Pineapple and the other bouncers were circling the stage, keeping everybody else back, and a man in a dark green business suit with a bucket hat shading his eyes stepped up on to the stage using a wooden cane for leverage.

"Well, well, Grimmjow. I thought you were keeping an eye on him." The wavy-haired blonde stated, standing over the pair.

"Ura—" The blunette was cut off.

"Mr. Candy Man, at your service. I do hope you take better care of our Strawberry from now on." His grey eyes glinted. Then the EMTs arrived, and were trying to get through the crowd. So, Mr. Candy Man called out, "Let's let these fine fellows through please? We'll give an extra show tomorrow night for your cooperation—half price!" That removed most of the inferring crowd, except for one pale man with hard eyes.

"What about tanight! I paid good money ta see ya show! I'm gonna get a refund er I ain't movin'!" He demanded.

Pineapple growled, grabbed the man by his shirt and hauled him off of his feet. "We gotta dancer down! Yer gonna move, even if I gotta move ya!" The pale man appeared to want to say something else but the bouncer just tossed him. Glass exploded from the broken wall that nobody had realized was a window due to the pane having been blacked out with paint. Blood dripped from the bouncers hands and lower arms, but he didn't seem fazed by it.

With the last obstacle out of the way, the paramedics brought the stretcher up to the stage. Grimmjow held his breath as they shifted the unconscious orangette onto the gurney. He leapt from the platform, following, and intent on getting into the ambulance with Ichigo.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and Candy Man's voice said, "It'll be easier on everyone if you take your car."

As soon as he was behind the wheel, Grimmjow was on the phone with Isshin, "Doc!"

The man's voice was tired. "Moshi moshi, Grimm. What's going on?"

"Ichi passed out on stage! Candy Man called the EMTs. I'm tailin' 'em now." He slammed on the breaks as he got caught by a red light.

Isshin frowned. "He was supposed to be in bed. How'd he get to work?"

"I dunno, but I was there wi' a couple o' my guys, an' there he was dancin' as usual. I thought ya were gonna keep him home t'night?" Blue eyebrows mimicked black.

"He was the last time I checked. Before dinner. I just assumed he was sleeping. People suffering from pneumonia like he is shouldn't be able to even get up and walk around, let alone dance."

"Doc, this is Ichi we're talkin' about here. He does tha imposs'ble like it's goin' outta style." He rolled his eyes, and turned the car, following the ambulance.

"What hospital are you headed to?" It sounded like the ex-captain was pulling a coat on.

"Karakura General, looks like. Should I tell 'em ta get Doc Quincy?" It was only a few blocks away now.

The door of the house opened and closed, "No, I'll get Ryuuken. You stay with Ichigo. Use reiatsu if you have to, but keep him stable until we get there."

"Sure, Doc…" He trailed off for a moment.

"Is there something else, Grimm?" Isshin paused in his movements to get into his own car.

"Just somethin' one o' my fraccion said. Doc, what's  _motsotsi_?" Grimmjow felt cold when the line went silent. "Doc?"

"It's a Zimbabwe slang term for AIDS, Grimm."


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you want, Grimm?" He groaned. Hospital food sucked. Needles sucked. Oxygen sucked. The television sucked. Hell, everything sucked! A week in this Kami-forsaken place and he was ready to tear his hair out. Of course, that wouldn't help. All that would do would be to put him in the psychiatric ward. They'd already tried after he regained consciousness and heard how long he'd gone untreated. For once, Goat Face had pulled through there.

Now though, the blue-haired former Arrancar that also happened to be his first real ex-boyfriend, was standing in the doorway of his room, looking like he'd been punched in the gut and strangely silent. He vaguely remembered that the man had been there for most of the past week, though a lot of that time had been spent sleeping.

Sighing, he tried another route. "You weren't here yesterday. Where'd you go?" He was still so very tired. The doctors told him it was the pneumonia; he wasn't so sure, but he didn't have the energy to maintain the kind of animosity he'd been holding onto since January.

"Funeral." Grimmjow said quietly. "She was a friend o' mine. One o' the crew. She, uh, died," He paused, "the day before ya collapsed."

The orangette nodded. "I'm sorry. Was she…?" He trailed off, trying not to imply anything but they both knew what he meant.

"Yeah. The first. Well, after you, o' course."

They fell into a somewhat awkward silence for a while. Ichigo staring at the blankets unsure what to say, and Grimmjow leaning against the doorframe like it was the only thing capable of keeping him on his feet.

"Y'know…"

"Look, Grimm…"

They spoke at the same time, turning to face each other. When their eyes met, the orangette looked away first, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. He picked at the blanket a little. So much he wanted to say, but how? Just looking at the former Espada made his heart clench and did things to his body that made him lose what little breath he had at the moment.

"Why don't you come take a seat?" He asked softly. There was a slight hesitation until he added, "You weren't bothered while I was sleeping. I could practically feel you staring then."

"S 'cause yer beautiful, Kitten."

A hand that had once been tanned reached out to touch his own on the blanket, and he let his eyes follow the sculpted arm up to the powerful jawline and chiseled features of his ex's face; all the way up to those endlessly blue eyes. His breath hitched. He opened his mouth but what came out was a body shaking cough that had him pulling his hand back to grab his ribs. The episodes weren't as long now that he'd been on IV antibiotics and oxygen for a week, but they were wet and sounded like he was trying to remove his lungs through his mouth. When he'd gotten his body back under control, he leaned back against the pillows that kept him propped up at an angle.

"Way to ruin the moment." He muttered, forgetting just how sensitive the Sexta's ears were. A glass of ice chips appeared in front of him, and once again he got lost in those eyes. "Thanks." He took the cup, half-smiling. He'd just focused on the ice when Grimmjow began to speak again.

"I was gonna say before…y'know they didn' mean anythin' right?"

"Yeah, but that's not the point—" The blunette cut him off.

"I know." He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as those piercing amber eyes narrowed. "That is, I know that now." Silence descended on them again. "Look, I know yer not gonna jus' fergive and ferget. I gotta earn yer trust back, or at least, 'M gonna try m' hardest. Yer worth it, Kitten, and what I did…I know it ain't right."

Ichigo shook his head. "You think it's that easy? You come waltzing in here and lay down some kind of light bulb moment you've had and I'll just let you come back like nothing happened?" He took as deep a breath as he dared, and clenched his hands in the blanket. "I love you. I think I loved you even all the way back then, but I'm not some toy you can play with when you feel like it. This isn't Hueco Mundo where you can do what you like and forget the consequences. You asked us to teach you what it was like to be Human, to give you a life that you had never had before. Well this is part of it. Sometimes when you fuck up you can't just come back again."

"Kitten—"

"Don't call me that." His eyes flashed.

"Ichigo, " Grimmjow amended, "M tryin' here. What d'ya want me ta do? I gave up the drugs. I haven't been laid since you an' me split. What's it gonna take ta prove 'M loyal?" He was trying to keep his temper in check. His pride screamed that he was being ridiculous, but he needed the strawberry in front of him like he needed air and water.

"It's just not that simple." The orangette shook his head again, this time looking away.

Silence pervaded the room again, and the former Espada shifted uneasily in his seat, trying to come up with something to say. He'd meant to come and ask about what his Kitten's father had said, but he still didn't know how to ask about it. Just the way Isshin had said the sentence told the blunette that it was something important. He had just made a noise at the time, and then all of their attention was on Ichigo, making sure the baka got the medicine he needed to defeat the whatever-it-was that was hurting him. Unaware that he did it, the feline Visored let out a small growl of frustration; he still didn't understand human diseases.

Ichigo reacted to the growl, unaware of the Sexta's internal monologue. "Well, if it's such a frustration, why do you bother?" He glared, arms crossed over his chest.

"I didn' mean…that's not what…augh, Kitten!" Grimmjow growled again, knowing that he was digging himself in deeper. He frowned, trying to find the words, but the orangette beat him to it.

"Didn't mean what, Grimm? To lie to me? To cheat on me? To run around behind my back?" His scowl grew darker, "Or did you not mean that you want to re-earn my trust?"

"No! Gods! When did ya become so paranoid?!" The panther's patience was practically gone.

The orange-haired Visored waved his arms, "Oh, I don't know, about the same time that I stopped being able to tell where you went during the day! You always know where I am, but I can't sense you for shit!"

"Is that what this is about!? The fact that I still have reiatsu!? Kami, Kitten! I can't help that!" His cerulean eyes flashed as he jumped to his feet, leaning on the railing of the bed.

"I know! But that doesn't mean you can abuse it!" They were nose to nose with equally dark glares forcing them to stare into each other's eyes.

"How many times do I have ta say 'M sorry before it sinks inta yer thick head?!" Grimmjow growled.

Ichigo responded with, "Until you actually mean it!"

"AUGH!" The blunette spun away in frustration.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, don't you dare wa—" A spasm in his chest told the younger man that he'd over-taxed his capacity for air again. He doubled over in the bed, and the former Espada flashed back to his side, a hand stroking down his back in a motion that he'd used multiple times over the course of the last week to help calm the violent coughing.

A nurse came rushing into the room, having heard their previous argument. She shot a glare at Grimmjow and pulled a sedative out of her pocket. Sending it into the IV brought relief in a few seconds. Once the orangette was stable, she rounded on the feline. "You need to leave. Kurosaki-san has had enough excitement for one day."

For a moment it seemed like the blunette was going to object, but he shifted his gaze from the angry nurse to Ichigo's exhausted frame and back again. He let out a breath, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. I'll…see ya 'round, Kitten." He couldn't look at the orangette at the moment.

The Sexta was almost out the door when the former Visored called, "Wait." They met eyes again when Grimmjow turned around, and still somewhat breathless, Ichigo asked, "How did she die? Your…friend, I mean?"

A spectrum of emotions crossed the feline's face, "Uh," He settled on confused frustration, "she had somethin' called Otto-mune Efficiency Disease, er somethin'. 'S got ev'rybody in the group up an' worried." He shook his head, scratching at the back of his neck with a scowl at the floor. "I don' understand it 'xactly, but they seemed ta be int'rested in whether I wore somethin' called a 'rain-' somethin' when I was with 'er."

"You mean Auto-Immune Deficiency?" Ichigo asked. He blinked a few times, mostly concentrating on his breathing.

"I dunno. It was somethin' like that." Grimmjow shrugged again. His eyes darted over to the nurse and back again, silently trying to tell the orangette why he was confused without freaking out the still irritated hospital staff member.

The former substitute Shinigami nodded, and rested his head against the pillows with a quiet sigh. He didn't want the Sexta to leave, but the man had to learn that sometimes he couldn't just apologize for what he'd done and everything would be fine again. So he closed his eyes to hide the pain and stilled his breathing to feign sleep.

Grimmjow stood there for a few more minutes, just watching the young man that had become the center of his universe. Just months ago, he hadn't even been aware he had a heart, and now it was no longer his own to command. Much to the disapproval of the nurse, the blunette crossed back to his strawberry's bedside. He leaned in and brushed the exposed temple with a kiss.

"I will win ya back, Kitten. I swear it. I love ya too much not ta." He pulled away and left the room finally, not seeing the small smile that tugged at Ichigo's lips.

About an hour after the Espada-turned-Visored left, the former Shinigami captain who also happened to be the orangette's father arrived. By then Ichigo really had fallen asleep again and it left Isshin to his thoughts in the mostly silent room. He sighed, Grimmjow's question in the car coming back to him. Why would the Arran— _former_  Arrancar want or need to know about AIDS? Had he come up against it? The doctor scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed again, a little too loudly.

"Mm? Dad?" Ichigo cracked an eyelid.

An internal debate crossed Isshin's face. "Hey." He finally said softly. He opened his mouth but his son's scowl stopped him.

"If you ask me how I'm feeling I'm going to have the nurse throw you out the way she did with Grimm earlier."

"Ok, I won't." Dark eyes searched the room for something to focus on besides the young man's sunken cheeks and dark circles. Deciding on the blanket, he asked, "So, he was here huh? You two talk any?"

Ichigo snorted. "He tried to apologize again. He's not getting that the number of apologies doesn't matter."

"Well, you do have to be a little patient with him, Ichi. He's not used to all of this." The doctor traced the design on the blanket unconsciously. His son snorted again, and it drew his attention back to the orangette. "So, where was he yesterday if he was here today?"

"He said one of his friends had died. She had some disease. He called it Otto-mune or something." Ichigo shook his head.

The bottom of Isshin's stomach fell out. "Was she one of his…?" He trailed off, going cold as he anticipated Ichigo's nod. He sucked in a breath, a dangerous click crossing his thoughts. His son's lack of energy, near constant illness over the last three months, and Grimmjow's promiscuous behavior. His mouth dried up and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat without the benefit of saliva. If the orange-haired patient noticed he didn't say anything, but as they visited Isshin took stock of his son's appearance. He deliberately moved the topic of conversation away from the former Espada and his group of human friends, concentrating on what Yuzu had been doing for the week and how much Ichigo would adore her cooking once he got to come home.

The sun had set by the time their visit had worn Ichigo out again. He yawned widely, and Isshin smiled. "I'll let you get some sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe I'll bring Yuzu and Karin and we can have dinner together."

"Yeah." The orangette yawned, letting his exhaustion get the better of him, "I'd like that." He closed his eyes and his father almost believed him to be asleep again, but then he asked, "About Grimm's friend, do you think maybe what she had was catching? Could Grimm get sick from being with her?"

The former captain pursed his lips, and was quiet for a dangerous, long moment, "Yeah, I think maybe he could." The implied 'you too' hung in the air between them when Ichigo nodded and gripped his father's hand.

Isshin tried to fight the sigh that threatened him, and bent over, clutching his son's hand, to kiss him. "Sleep well, Little Berry. Your mom and I will pray that I'm wrong." He spoke quietly, and as soon as he knew the former Visored was truly asleep, he left for the night to arrange for the appropriate blood tests to be drawn the next morning. Oh Kami, how he prayed his gut was wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

The smell of make-up, sweat, stale alcohol, and a scent that Ichigo could only describe as the stage assaulted his senses. It was like coming home. He inhaled deeply, finally feeling like himself again after almost two months of 'recuperation' at his father's behest. So, standing in the doorway of the dressing room at Candy Land had his nerves on fire and the electricity of the upcoming show created a pool of excitement in his belly. He had all of about five seconds to enjoy this though as an ear-splitting squeal broke through his reverie.

"STRAWBERRY!" Tutti Fruiti literally pounced him and clung to his shoulder. "WE MISSED YOU! Didn't we boys?" She turned to grin at the night's line-up.

Mocha smiled and waved. He'd been the only one to visit the orangette while he was in the hospital. Next to him sat Chai, a lanky brunette with a thing for collars and arm bands; Licorice, bulkier than both Chai and Mocha put together and the only dancer sporting facial hair as he had squared off sideburns that reached his jawbone; and Coconut, a silver-haired man who looked to be older than the rest but had one of the most impressive sets of abs Ichigo had ever seen. The dancer must have been extremely proud of them because he often wore open or skin tight shirts so he could display his six-pack.

"Candyman tonight, ne?" The orangette asked, taking in the costumes the male dancers were wearing.

Tutti Fruiti smiled and winked, "You know it, Berry-tan!" She bounced her way over to Coconut and glomped him. "Since you're here though, that means I don't have to go on. You're up for it right?" She leaned her head over the silver hair of the man who was ignoring her.

"Of course. I know that one like the back of my hand." He laughed, waving her off. She wasn't at all dressed yet, so he didn't feel bad about stealing her tips. "Let me grab a drink and I'll come back so you can help strap me into the costume."

Fifteen minutes later Ichigo was dressed in a pair of skin tight bright red leather pants made up completely of buckles and straps, a matching half-shirt with the same buckles and straps down both arms, a corset of darker red, and knee-high black boots. All together he had forty-eight buckles holding the majority of his costume together. He added another buckle when he donned a thick black collar. A touch of eyeliner and color to his lips so he wouldn't wash out completely on stage and he was almost ready. Tutti Fruiti gave him a final go over and smacked his ass on his way out of the dressing room to join the other 'Flavors' in the line-up to go on stage.

No sooner had he left than the blue-haired menace that had been keeping tabs on him since he'd been discharged from the hospital exploded into the dressing room. "Where is he?!"

"Where's who, Blue?" Tutti asked, her hand on her hips and a tilt to her head.

"Ich—ah Strawberry." Grimmjow stumbled over the stage name.

The Scene girl flicked shook her head, making the dreadlocks of her ponytails shimmer in the bright lighting, "He's already in the line-up. If ya hurry ya might catch him."

He was already out the door and tearing up the stairs to the wings before she'd even finished her sentence. He at least knew enough not to go yelling for the man as he dashing through the back stage area. He did, however, shove several of the other dancers out of the way, earning himself dirty looks and a muffled expletive before stopping at the bottom of the stairs leading up onto the platform in the center of the stage.

When the blunette finally caught up to his favorite Flavor, the strawberry was adjusting his fingerless gloves with two fingers, the other three curled around something that Grimmjow couldn't make out in the darkness. He could see the scowl he received from the top of the steps and almost felt bad for hounding the orangette.

"What are you doing here, Grimm?" Ichigo asked, feeling repetitive. It seemed like he was always asking that question of his ex.

"Ya can't dance yet! Yer dad said ya aren't ready. Ya don't have yer wind back, an' I won't stand by an' watch ya collapse on stage ag'in." He couldn't meet the angry amber glare, fidgeting.

A stage hand leaned around the corner. "Five minutes, boys."

The orangette looked up briefly and then back down. "Look, Grimm, I don't have time for this right now. It takes too long for someone else to get strapped into all of this. I'm dancing and that's final."

Using his feline reflexes and significant upper body strength, the Sexta hauled himself up onto the stairs in front of his berry. "I don't want ta see ya get hurt ag'in. Tha last time ya were on that stage ya wound up laid up fer two months." He reached out to touch Ichigo's cheek but the orangette batted his hand away.

"I'm not sick anymore, and you're in the way. I have to go on."

Grimmjow growled, and the stage hand walked past. "Two minutes." Earning the petite blonde a dark glare and a second growl.

"Grimmjow, get out of the way or so help me I will pull you on stage with me." Ichigo fisted his hips and glared up at the now higher blunette.

"Then yer takin' me on stage wi' ya." The former Espada crossed his arms over his chest and gave the object of his affection his 'I'm not movin' glare.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, "Fine. But you'll need the trench coat from Mr. Candy Man behind you."

He gestured and the Sexta turned around to see the same wavy blonde-haired man from the stage two months ago, standing at the entrance to the stage with Mocha and Chai in between him and the spill of the lights. The smile the club owner wore was entirely too familiar for Grimmjow's comfort and the glint in his eye spoke volumes about the sort of trouble the blunette would find himself in should he attempt to take the trench coat.

However, with a spin of the man's cane, the threat was replaced with mischief. "Of course, Strawberry. If your partner insists on participating, I'll be glad to hand over my jacket."

Somehow, magically the deep green duster fit the much larger frame of the Sexta, but considering who it came from the former Espada thought it best not to question it. While he was trying it on, the same stage hand who'd warned them of the time gave the line-up an apologetic look then pressed a button on the wall-sized stereo system.

"Tarzan and Jane were swingin' on a vine!" The man on the track shouted out across the crowded house, and a rousing cheer drowning out the vintage drumbeat and trumpets.

"That's our cue, Grimm." Ichigo stepped forward with a roll of his eyes, and started tapping the beat with the heel of his boot.

"Wai-wait!" The Candy Man's cane was shoved into the blunette's hand and the top hat that matched his duster placed on his head. "What do I do?"

"Just stand there, Raspberry." Candy Man grinned.

Mocha and Chai took Grimmjow's arms in theirs, and strutted him out to the beat, which the feline Visored easily fell into. Ichigo stepped out around them with a deliberate shake of his posterior to the upbeat song. He carried a riding crop and still had his hand wrapped around the something from before. The lights narrowed and then went out.

"Sweet…" The left spotlight illuminated Mocha with an arm across Grimmjow's chest.

The right spotlight came on, and Chai had mirrored the darker male across the blunette's back. "Sugar…"

"Candy Man." The final spotlight lit up at Grimmjow's feet to show Ichigo crouched down and looking over his shoulder.

The Sexta stood in his standard motorcycle boots, dark jeans and skin tight graphic tee-shirt, feet shoulder-width apart, both hands on the curved handle of the cane, hat tilted down to shade his eyes and bathed in a soft blue light from above. The band of the hat glittered, and the fabric shimmered.

When the trumpets came back in, the lights came back up and Coconut and Licorice joined the four already on the stage. Chai and Mocha crossed around Grimmjow and Ichigo to latch on to the two newcomers, who were both dressed in sharp black suits with matching top hats. Chai and Mocha matched Ichigo in bright blue and white respectively.

Ichigo rose to his feet and as a team the three in brighter colors strutted around to stand behind other three. On a downbeat all three draped their left arms over the respective left shoulders of their props and the three buckles down each forearm popped in succession after the first was released with click. The red, white and blue sleeves flew back over their wearers' heads into the darkness.

Three hands snapped to the beat, and their owners wiggled their way back around to wave their leather clad posteriors in the audience's face. Mocha and Chai pressed their chests against Licorice and Coconut, but Ichigo bent over the cane that made Grimmjow stand out from the other two. Where his hands were both crossed over the hook of the cane the other two had their hands in their pockets. Another downbeat had the smaller males popping the other three buckles on their respective left arms, and the sleeve disposed of over the shoulders of their props.

The lyrics prompted the three to spin around and sink down onto their heels so they could loosen the six buckles on their thighs. The word 'drop' brought them back up, the straps of their pants from knee to hip falling to leave the men in speedo-style hot-pants. The three stepped forward, shaking their hips and pressing their pelvises out to the audience.

Throughout this erotic display of his berry's body, Grimmjow stood stock still, trying his hardest to not show how nervous standing on stage made him. His eyes darted from one side of the club to the other, and his knuckles went white. His attention was drawn to them when Ichigo's hands landed on his own again. He tried to catch his berry's eyes, but caught up in the music the orangette wasn't paying attention, or maybe he was deliberately avoiding eye contact?

Lights flashed and the music continued and Grimmjow tried to just watch Ichigo. It wasn't easy but after a sidelong glance at both Coconut and Licorice he found it best to just look at his hands. The nervousness wasn't something he was comfortable with. The Sexta Espada did NOT get scared of anything. Not when he was wandering the deserts of Hueco Mundo and not now.

He was so focused on NOT being scared of being on stage that when Ichigo smacked his rear end with the riding crop he jumped forward. Only his natural reflexes kept him on his feet, but apparently the spin he unconsciously did with the cane had the audience roaring. It took all of a nanosecond for Grimmjow to make the decision to leer at his Kitten. The berry strutting around like the other two again, naked but for the boots, g-string, corset, fingerless gloves, and collar. Unknowingly, the blunette followed the smaller man in a spin that turned his back to the audience because of the presence of the crop pressed against his cheek. They'd finally made eye-contact and he'd be damned if he was going to break it.

The singer whispered into the microphone on the track again and Ichigo leaned into Grimmjow's chest, dropping the slim stick so that it was out of the way. He put his hands on either side of the Sexta's neck, and with the beat slid between his legs, all of his weight supported by the larger man. In a slick move that fit perfectly with the music, Grimmjow tossed the cane into air, caught Ichigo's hands as he slid, and spun back around to face forward again, throwing the strawberry back up onto his feet. The orangette grinned over his shoulder reaching out to grab the cane as it fell. He spun it around his arm and smacked the end against the stage, strutting around it. Leading with his pelvis again he walked up to it until he was straddling the wooden shaft. A few shimmies over it and he threw a high kick into the air to turn himself around again.

The orangette stalked back to his blue-haired partner, spinning the cane, so that when the singer started actually singing again he was right in front of the feline. The last chorus was spent displaying the strawberry's flexibility. When the man from the beginning of song started chanting again, Ichigo leaned in to almost kissing distance, but pulled back on the echoes. Grimmjow, of course followed, and the final explosion noise he jumped. The blunette caught him and the cane as confetti rained down over the stage and the audience went crazy.

Money was thrown onto the stage by the handful. Screams rang out from wall to wall. People were jumping out of their seats. It was pure chaotic mayhem, and Ichigo just soaked it all in. Shows like this were the whole reason he danced in the first place, and the secret part of him that really just wanted to forget the whole messy nonsense of the last three months relished in the fact that it was Grimmjow who was holding him instead of Mr. Candy Man.

The lights went out as the announcer shouted over the din, "Give it up for Coconut, Mocha, Chai, Licorice, and our delicious Strawberry, back from a two month hiatus! Isn't he just something else!? And how about a big Candy Land cheer for Blue Raspberry, our last minute stand in! This was his first time on stage, folks. Let him hear how much you loved him! Maybe he'll be back if you're loud enough!"

In the darkness, Ichigo hopped down, just like Mocha and Chai, and the six men moved off while the stage hands swept the performance platform for the next dancer. He tugged off one of the gloves and ran his hand through his hair. Shaking out the glitter and sweat, he dug into his corset and withdrew a gold chain with a small aquamarine-encrusted charm hanging from it. He never danced without it, and even though most of his costumes didn't let him actually wear it, he could usually tuck it somewhere, especially with ones like this. In the mix up with Grimmjow earlier he'd almost forgotten to tuck it away, and he actually had forgotten to take it off before putting his collar on.

"Hey, thanks again, Mocha." He called as the dusky male walked past.

Tossing his hair with a haughty smile. "Anytime, Strawberry." His tenor was musical, still high from an amazing performance.

Ichigo shook his head at the other, watching him wrap himself around one of the bouncers, Vanilla or something. The orangette wasn't sure, but the man wore a horribly obvious wig the color of vanilla beans. The two were on-again, off-again it seemed, and at the moment, they were most definitely on, as Vanilla grabbed Mocha's chin and kissed the smaller male soundly. The cocoa colored man gave a squeak, and a giggle, diving mouth first into the kiss like no one else was around.

The strawberry couldn't stop the sigh that escaped his lips, and he held his necklace tighter. Then he forcibly looked away from the scene, determined not to let anything interrupt his adrenaline high. He found himself nose to chest with the tight graphic tee that had been his focus for most of the last five minutes. Unable to help himself, he looked up into the bright cerulean gaze of the wearer of the shirt. He got all of a moment's warning before the mouth he'd been missing so keenly latched on to his own. He melted, utterly and completely, and found himself wrapping his arms around that strong neck, hauling himself up onto the slim waist, and crossing his ankles behind the taller man as wide, sturdy hands gripped his backside, holding him aloft. Paradise reigned until…

"Mmm, Kitten." The rumbled voice against his lips shocked him back to reality.

He pushed with all of his might against the man holding him and fell, ungracefully, to the floor just outside of the dressing room. He scrubbed his lips with the back of his hand and glared up at Grimmjow. How dare he!? After everything they'd been through! He was just about to voice those very thoughts when he caught the dimming of the light in his ex's eyes.

The blunette stepped up to him, bent over and picked up the necklace that had flown out of Ichigo's hand the second he'd launched himself away. He ran his thumb over the surface of the charm.

"Heh." He blinked with a sad smile. "Ya still wear it." Ichigo opened his mouth again, but Grimmjow cut him off. "Nah. I was outta line…again." He held the necklace out to his Kitten. "Here."

The gold and blue trinket pooled into the orangette's hand, and the Sexta turned to walk away. "Grimm…" His voice was rough.

"Yeah?" A sad eye looked over his shoulder at the former Substitute Shinigami still sitting on the floor.

"I…" He trailed off.

"Yeah…" Grimmjow answered. "See ya 'round, Ichigo." Without another word, the former Espada walked off, leaving the club completely.

Ichigo stared after him, then looked down at the charm. He traced the gemstones. It sparkled in the light coming from the stage—an old English style six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the last of what's been posted so far. That being said, there's a REASON I'm finally posting it over here. Hee hee hee. Keep an eye out on GrimmIchi Day. ;3 Ja ne, minna!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I gave in. XD
> 
> I was re-reading the reviews over on FF.net and I just couldn't wait any longer. Here's the next chapter, a couple of days early.

"Has anybody seen Pineapple lately?" Chai asked, nearly a week later on his way into the dressing room from the floor. He'd been waiting tables tonight, so he was wearing the more conventional skinny jeans and painted-on style tee shirt that displayed the club's logo, and by all logic should have seen the quiet bouncer in his rounds.

Ichigo looked up from the text book in his lap, pulling his reading glasses off of his nose. "No, I haven't seen him since I've been back. Did he quit?"

"Mr. Candy Man said something about him needing to go out of town." Mocha supplied, spinning around his chair and crossing his legs at the knee. "It's why he hired Vanilla. To replace him."

"Oh." Chai looked disappointed.

Turning back to his homework, Ichigo shrugged, "Maybe he just had something he needed to do and he'll be back. You never know. I mean, most of the bouncers change regularly." He chewed on his pen, "Come to think of it he was the only one still here from when I was hired."

With his nose back in his books, Ichigo missed the knowing glance shared among the other dancers. Chai opened his mouth but Coconut shook his head. The berry boy couldn't know the truth. Not yet. The others weren't ready and didn't even know if the procedure would work. For now, while he was deaf and blind to who they really were, the people he'd come to know as his co-workers needed to keep up the charade that they were nothing more than they appeared. No matter how worried they were about one of their own who was off-grid without permission and behaving recklessly. More recklessly than normally at least. So, Chai subsided with an exasperated grunt as he flopped onto the other end of Ichigo's couch.

"Yeah, you're right, Strawberry. I'm sure he'll be back around before winter."

The orangette looked up again, confused, "Before winter?"

Mocha was quick to shoot Chai a look and answered hastily, "He just means because Pineapple's preference for motorcycles would make travel when it gets cold hard."

"Hmm." The former substitute shinigami grunted unconvinced, but he didn't push it, he had too many other things weighing on his mind to worry too hard over one bouncer who could obviously take care of himself.

For a short while they were all busy amongst themselves. Mocha was chatting softly with Coconut. Ichigo was concentrating on his geography report. Chai had his eyes closed, picking out guitar fingerings silently. And the rest were out in the club preparing to close up shop for the night. Just before the final curtain call, Mr. Candy Man himself appeared in the doorway. He watched his youngest dancer working for a bit. Taking in the shadows the berry though he was hiding under his eyes, and the way his collar bones were gaining prominence above the edge of his wide-necked tee-shirt. The older blond-haired man frowned. He needed to make a few phone calls and cash in a few favors before the vibrant orange-head faded any further. But for now...

"Oh Berry-tan!" He called spritely, adopting the demeanor of one half his apparent age and unburdened by life and death.

Ichigo smiled tiredly, folding his glasses away, "Need me for the final number, boss?"

"No, no, nothing like that." The flamboyant club owner crossed the room with a flourish, "I was merely hoping you had heard from your fetching Blue Raspberry lately. He was quite a hit taking my place last Saturday and those sorts of profits always look good, no matter where he came from with that delinquent look of his!"

The younger man's face fell and he breathed to steady himself, "I'm sorry, Mr. Candy Man, I haven't and I have to confess I don't particularly want to."

That was a bald-faced lie, but Ichigo couldn't bring himself to admit it even out loud in his own mind. The kiss the week before had re-awakened all of the reasons he'd been drawn to the former Arrancar from the beginning. And though the first half of his statement was true, he hadn't heard nor seen anything of Grimmjow since then, he did catch himself looking for him. Over the course of the week between classes and work he hadn't had the time or willpower to analyze  _why_  he was looking for the blunette, he only knew he was.

"That's a shame; I was hoping to get him on the payroll! It wouldn't be fair to utilize those gorgeous looks of his without compensation for it." The boss longed for the fan his other alter ego always carried for statements like that, but had to content himself with covering his mouth with his hand in a forced giggle.

Across town at that moment, the subject of their conversation had his head in his hands. He dug his fingers into his hair, pulling at the vibrant spikes. As soon as Isshin had explained what had killed his friend he'd done research; looked up the symptoms, the side effects, the risks, the treatments; all of it. He knew that if it was caught soon enough it was even possible to almost cure someone who'd been exposed to it. But there were stipulations, and rules, and conditions had to be perfect. And the number one concern was avoiding secondary infections. Should one of those set in, it had to be dealt with first, and even then, it was a losing battle if the patient didn't put all of their strength into avoiding further physical stress.

All of it added up to something that Grimmjow knew his kitten wouldn't do, no matter what the cost. He'd been hard enough on his body before losing his powers. Now that he had, he seemed to be Hell bent on punishing it for failing him. 'Workaholic' the others called him. It had caused an even greater rift between him and his classmates that only grew larger with each hollow the gifted humans took down. So expecting Ichigo to slow down for something as meaningless to him as his health… Grimmjow was better off asking the Quincy to stop hating the whole of Hueco Mundo. He'd get better results.

"You know, it isn't the death sentence it used to be, son. There have been significant breakthroughs in medicine since it was first discovered." The clinician said gently.

He was kind, with an open face that was ignorant to the blunette's real problems, but he meant well. He saw this sort of thing often and he was trying to be the same sort of supportive pillar for this patient that he was for all of the others, even if he couldn't truly understand what had the former Arrancar so upset.

"Yeah. Thanks." Grimmjow looked up, worry heavy in his eyes.

The older looking man put his hand on the feline's shoulder, his smile apologetic, but gentle, "We caught it early. There's a lot of hope in that." He squeezed the muscle in a manner that was supposed to be sympathetic. "Take care of yourself, son, and call me if that medicine gives you any trouble."

Then he left the other to his thoughts, and Grimmjow made his way out of the office in a daze. He'd gone there on a whim. He'd never expected to have it pan out as anything significant. He drew his hand down over his face, and his vision followed the motion to that slip of paper in his hand. In a sudden fit of rage he crushed it, hauled back and threw it across the street towards the empty lot like he would have thrown a cero so long ago. It came as no surprise to him when Pantera responded, lighting the prescription up in kido that turned it into a bomb, sending dirt and debris flying in all directions.

In the midst of people screaming and cowering, uncertain where the explosion had come from, Grimmjow dug his cellphone out of his pocket. He still gripped it too hard, but he managed to get the tiny thing to his ear just as it started ringing.

When the person on the other end of the line picked up, the blunette growled, "I need ta see ya. I've a favor I need ta ask."

There was little resistance, and he hung up quickly once he'd received the affirmative answer. He tossed the device on the passenger side seat to his Lancer as he climbed in behind the wheel. He looked at it, and the seat, and his expression hardened again. He needed to do this. He had to save the berry's life and he couldn't think of any other way to do it. The car jumped to life with a roar and he floored the pedal, speeding recklessly through the streets ignoring the police cars and rescue vehicles heading in the opposite direction. He was entirely focused on keeping his resolve hardened until he reached his destination; a grand hotel on the edge of his usual stomping ground owned by a man that he knew only by the codename 'Mr. Pink'.

His tires squealed as he drifted into a parking space and cut the engine. A big man with a sinus issue was waiting for him, sunglasses heavy on his face and dressed in the sort of suit one would expect from the mafia. He escorted Grimm through a side entrance to an elevator that required a keycard and a handprint to activate, but he didn't join the former Arrancar inside. They exchanged a look for a moment before the doors closed and the metal box sped off to the penthouse at the top of the building.

The suite was lavish when Grimmjow entered it. Crystals, gold embossing, plush velvet on the pillows, suede leather on the couches, a cut away in the thick carpet for him to take his shoes off, and every amenity that a man could dream of all housed in one place fit for a king. Crossing into the sitting room area, the feline gave a small whistle.

"Ya really know how to live it up, don'tcha."

The man, dressed quite casually in a fluffy pink robe with a young thing spread across his lap- as blond as he was- gave an insincere smile. "Naturally, Mr. Blue Raspberry. What is the point of amassing a fortune if you don't even enjoy what it can procure for you while you are still alive to enjoy it? I could squander all the money I can possibly imagine for the rest of my years and still have enough that my heir will never want for a thing in his life. Please, come in, make yourself comfortable. Help yourself...to anything," he added with a look at the pile of limbs and scanty outfits piled on the floor in front of the gaming system that dominated one wall of the penthouse.

There was a collection of girls and boys there, in every shape, size, and color, and those not occupied with the game itself were looking over their new houseguest with large grins and giggling among themselves. It wasn't often the master had surprise company, after all!

"Ya know I  _hate_  that nickname. Ura-That damn club owner and his stupid-but that ain't why I'm here." Grimmjow ignored them all. He had one thing in mind. "I need ya ta buy something. Specifically someone. A dancer from Candy Land. Think ya c'n do that fer me?"

The man straightened up and sat forward, his smile disappearing. His glasses came off. "...Run that by me again. With better details. Who do I need to buy, and why?"

The blunette scrubbed his hand over his face again and growled. "One of the Flavors. He needs ta cut his workload but he ain't listenin' ta reason. So I was thinkin' if you bought him, fer I dunno, a couple of months of private dances, and only had him do like two or three a week at most, he'd get the rest he needs and he wouldn't feel like he was slackin' off. It's fer his health, Pink. He can't keep doin' this."

The big blond leaned back, mouth tightening as he drummed his fingers on his knee. "...You know I don't buy people without seeing to their needs, Blue. And that one- I don't think I'd be allowed to buy him. About five people, including the other Flavors and you, warned me off him. With threats, in a couple cases."

In his lap, the younger man tried to sit up, his face dark and angry, but the large 'business' man's hand on his shoulders kept him down, though he growled. He didn't like threats to his master.

Pink crossed his hands at the wrist, as though he was physically bound by the unspoken restrictions, and sighed, "I have no problem with DOING it, mind. But if he won't let me pay for tests and care he needs..."

The word 'tests' made the former Arrancar go stiff.

"So ya... know...?" He hadn't thought he was being that obvious. A shadow came over his face and started pacing like the big cat he was internally. "I didn't know! I didn't think! She was... and then there was the... and ya just let it all happen, ya know? It just all piles up when ya ain't never had it before, and then the next thing ya know, yer wakin' up ta find yer crew's dyin' off, and ya know ya've fucked up! But there ain't nothin' I c'n do 'bout it. He won't listen, ya see. He just works and works and works, like I'm an itch he can't get rid of, but he looks at me, and I c'n see he needs me, but I fucked it all up. And now his life's in danger and it's all my fuckin' fault! Ow..."

Grimmjow gripped his shirt over the heart he was still getting used to and fell back onto the couch looking lost and more exposed than he ever had.

"It hurts, Pink. Why the fuck's it hurt?! It ain't s'posed ta hurt. It's s'posed ta be freedom and feelin' good fer once in my fuckin' life. Fuckin' shopkeeper never said it'd fuckin' hurt."

The man's face twisted with pity and he rose from his seat, the blond from his lap sliding into his own chair to let his boss come up to the blue-haired man and kneel down to his level.

"No-one ever warns you of the pain. I know it hurts. It has always hurt. We always hope the hurt won't come; that's why we don't warn newcomers. We hope they'll be lucky and have a life without this pain. But it comes to most of us, if not all. You did have fun and feel good- but there were consequences, and now has come time for those to bear fruit, I'm afraid." He brushed the blue hair out of his eyes in a comforting gesture. "I know because I've seen that look before, Blue. But I'm sorry it's happened to you. Sorrier it's happened to him."

"The doc said he could save 'im. He's just gotta take it easy while it's doin' its thing. But he won't. That's why ya gotta buy 'im. He needs somebody holdin' him back from killin' himself."

Grimmjow hunched over himself. This was worse than losing his Six, worse even than being an Adjuchas and seeing his fracciones falling further and further behind. He may have fucked up being partner to his kitten but he just couldn't sit back and watch the berry kill himself without doing everything he could to stop it.

The larger man nodded. "If Candy Man will let me, I'll buy him for the next three months, and make it a stipulation he doesn't dance for me often, but keeps me company instead, and lets me pay for him to get tested and care for him if he gets sick. It wouldn't be unusual for me- I keep most of my favorites close at hand for more than their bodies. I adore their company," he nodded to the gaggle spread around the apartment. "And where he works being...where he works it's not peculiar I'd want to get him tested, either. Just in case and all."

The feline Visored scrubbed his face again, especially where the bone mask used to be attached, as if he could rub away the emotions he never thought he'd ever feel. Then he stood up, clearing his throat and situating his clothes. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll, uh, I'll talk ta Ura-Candy Man. He might be able ta make Ich-Strawberry go without a fuss. Ya just..." He hesitated, balancing on his toes unconsciously, "Ya know what he's like. I know ya've tried ta buy 'im b'fore. And... I shouldn't've... I know ya'll be good ta 'im. Mebbe if I'd listened ta ya b'fore..."

"Don't," Pink said firmly, rising. "Maybes, would haves, and could haves do nothing but drive you mad. Don't go there. If you had listened to my tutorial on this kind of life, none of this  _might_  have happened. Safety measures can fail; for all we know this could have happened despite all precautions. Don't. And yes, I'll be good to him. But if you want to come visit sometime...feel free. Really. You're welcome here, Blue- you know you are. Anytime," he promised solemnly.

Grimmjow gave a self-depreciating laugh. "He won't want me 'round. But thanks, Pink."

Then he left. He had places to go and other people to see, namely the only real doc he trusted in this town to get a replacement for that paper he blew up. He knew Pink would take care of his berry. The orangette would  _have_  to slow down, maybe give the meds a chance to work. Maybe... maybe he wouldn't end up like Gemma had. Maybe it didn't have to be a red card. Maybe...

For the first time since before the blunette could remember, he wasn't thinking about himself first. It was a novel sensation, but he didn't even have the wherewithal to process it. He was running on instinct, as he always had. The difference was this was the first time he'd ever recognized another as his mate, though it only registered as a true connection in that part of his soul that was still sealed away with his Resurrection.

The man known as Mr. Pink sat back and sighed, picking up his favorite and holding him close in his lap as the pit of his gut ached.

"Master...was Mr. Blue sick?"

"He is, sweetie. He's very sick. He had the same look on his face as...my man did when he came to me and told me he'd come up positive. And he gave it to his man without knowing; because that's the look he had when he told me I needed to be tested too."

The little blond sat up. "Then Strawberry's got it? Then why-"

"Because Strawberry can't afford not to take it easy, but he hasn't got the funding not to work. I can fix that, and I will."

The boy subsided, mulling over how that would go over with Strawberry. He was betting not well.

"What do you mean 'he bought me'?! Boss, this isn't what we agreed on when you hired me!" Ichigo growled, storming across the dressing room. He was half-dressed, only in his booty shorts and over-the-knee boots. "I'm your best seller! You can't pull me off the main stage! We both need the tips I bring in!"

Mr. Candy Man smiled from behind his hand, resisting the urge to fan himself with it but only barely. "Oh ho ho, I know, but I'm afraid I was offered  _three times_  what you bring in on tips alone to contract your services for three months. The man is quite generous, dear Strawberry. Even his stipulations benefit you! He wants to test you, have you keep him company in his  _penthouse_  instead of merely dancing, AND if you should get sick in any way he wants rights to nurse you to health or pay for your care. He must have a caretaker kink. And he even promised to draw up a contract to make it legally binding- with the amount of money he is willing to pay for you, how  _could_  I have said no?"

"Yeah, and you know what he really means! I'm not a  _WHORE!_ " The orangette threw his arm out as if to smack someone, though no one was in range at the moment.

The others were all at the back of the dressing room, watching. They had been getting ready for the floor show, the first act of the night, when the club owner had appeared, as if out of nowhere, in the doorway with his proposition. Coconut was surly about it, frowning but not saying anything. Tutti Fruitti kept looking between him and Ichigo nervously, like she wanted to say something but knew better than to open her mouth. Mocha was physically sitting on Chai, who at the first mention of the idea had jumped up to try and defend the berry's honor. In that same regard, Licorice had his meaty hand over Vanilla's mouth, the bouncer flailing and shouting in spite of the restraint.

"And what does he mean 'tested'?! I'm fucking clean! I've never done drugs and the only person I ever had fucking sex with hasn't touched me in  _months!_  It's an insult just by itself, nevermind the reasons he has besides what he's fucking said!" Ichigo was furious. "You wouldn't do this to anyone else in your roster, why me?!"

"Because the offer is for you and you alone. And frankly, I know exactly what he wants, and he doesn't want a whore. He wants a  _companion_. Why do you think he has such a flock of devotees? Because he's good to the people he likes, Strawberry. And the one he likes most in my club is you." Mr. Candy Man did  _not_  say he'd been asked to let the businessman do it as a favor, "And I assume he means tested. For a range of things. I heard he gave every one of his harem cancer screenings last month, and the month before that prostate exams and mammograms. He'd most likely take you to the hospital for a complete workup."

The former substitute shinigami was pacing, gesturing wildly with his whole upper torso, and frankly getting red in the face with a subtle hint of being winded. He rubbed his chest absently, concern flashing across his brow without him realizing it. "And what if... what if it's not what it seems? They say he's a drug dealer. They say..." He had to catch his breath, this wasn't good. This was how it started last time. He swallowed dryly, his anger draining to worry. "What if he just wants to...eh..." No, no, no, not the tickle, anything but the tickle. He shivered, wiped the sweat from his brow, "He... I gotta..." His words came out choked, "Gotta... He's just-"

He couldn't fight it anymore, all the pacing and heightened emotions and extra rehersals that he hadn't told anyone about caught up to his still healing lungs, and the berry bent over coughing wetly, his whole body seizing with the motions. Mocha was quick to jump up and hold him tight, rubbing his back and giving him something to hold on to that wasn't himself so he didn't strain the muscles between his ribs too badly. The dusky dancer gave Mr. Candy Man a hard look, accusing him of both causing the spasm and of not doing anything to prevent it from happening, while he shushed softly in Ichigo's ear.

The club owner stepped forward, producing an inhaler and concealing a needle as he bent to support him on his other side, expertly injecting the muscle relaxer and waiting for the coughs to subside a little before plugging the inhaler into his former student's mouth and demanding he inhale.

"You calm down. Don't stress yourself out any more than you already have. I know all the things they say about Pink, but I've known him a long time. He's good on his word. Every time. If he says he won't ask you for sex, then he won't ask you for sex. He'll let you negotiate," he explained as he made his youngest dancer inhale another dose, hoping to calm his worries and settle his mind enough that he stopped working himself up like this.

The fear in Ichigo's amber eyes didn't belong there. There was no way he could sense through their disguises, not consciously, but his instinct, that drive he'd always had to push past every barrier that had ever stood in his way, that knew he was safe with these people. It trusted them implicitly, and let him relax into their arms. As the medicines got to work, he shivered, a cold sweat ruining the make-up and glitter he'd so carefully applied earlier. It didn't matter anymore, of course, the boss wouldn't let him dance after an episode like that, and frankly, he was learning to not want to. He was drained, stumbling to the couch with their help. He curled up with his knees drawn up to his chin and shuddered, wanting different hands than the slender ones currently rubbing his back.

When he finally could breathe without risking coughing again, he nodded. "Fine. But... I wanna meet him... here. First."

Candy Man nodded. "He'll be fine with that, he told me. Do you want to meet him tomorrow?" ' _Because I don't think you should see him after an episode like that_ ' was unspoken, but clear from the worry just barely wrinkling his brow and the note in his voice.

Ichigo nodded again, and laid down at Mocha's insistence, turned towards the back of the couch. The way he was beating himself up was clear to all of them, and an uneasy air came over their reiatsu before Mocha, with all of the presence he used to control the Eleventh, gathered them up and forced all of them, including Mr. Candy Man, out of the dressing room. He kept them quiet until he had the door shut. There was a beat where they all held their breath, then the shinigami in disguise whirled on his 'boss' with all the fury a Fifth Seat of Kenpachi's division should have at a time like this.

"Tell me you and that washed up psuedo-human father of his are working on something!? This is  _not_  beautiful! He's  _destroying_  himself! I thought the whole reason we were doing this was so that he  _didn't_  do that!"

The blond shopkeeper held up his hands. "We are; we are! That's how we got what's in the inhaler. It's not a cure, but it'll cut down the muscle seizures and heal his lungs, at least a little bit. And that's also the reason I agreed to let Pink contract him at all, much less for such a long time...he promised me he'd make him rest." His expression was grim. "He also told me he was asked to do this. As a favor to someone we all know is worrying about him from afar."

"Ugh!" Vanilla swore from the back.

Chai ground his teeth, "I could kill that hollow." He was promptly smacked across the back of the head by Coconut, who stood a full head taller than the lanky guitar player. He winced, rubbing the spot, "Sorry, taicho."

"He means well. He has to. That's only way he could have gotten his heart back, remember what happened to the others." Licorice spoke softly, reverently in mimic of his own captain.

"Yeah, but it's his fault we're in this mess in the first place." Vanilla groused, with Mocha nodding off to the side.

Licorice closed his eyes, his expression clear that he missed his sunglasses, "If everyone was held in disgust for all of their mistakes without hope of forgiveness we would all be hollows."

Tutti Fruitti pounced Coconut from the scaffolding above where the stairs led up to the stage and huffed, "Mashiro is tired of hiding from Berry-tan!"

"Please..." The silver-haired man grunted absently, though he appeared physically unaffected by the girl crawling over his head and shaking her fist at Mr. Candy Man.

"Do you really think if he knew who we were he wouldn't hop town in a roar of  _sonido?_ He's not READY, Mashiro," Urahara snapped irritably, finally indulging in his guilty vice and producing a fan to hold in front of his face. "He's working himself to death because he refuses to turn to any of us for help of ANY kind. Do you not think, if we revealed ourselves, he wouldn't scream at us in a rage so fierce it would turn his own lungs inside out?"

He snapped the fan shut to gesture with it.

"Look, Pink… I've been making deals with that man for thirty years and he's never reneged on a deal. He doesn't break his word, that's just how he is. He's promised me he'll make Ichigo rest; make him lay around the apartment with him and use any excuse he has to, with only one or two dances a week to let him let off steam. The meds will help, but only if he rests enough to let them work, and Pink guarantees me that. I don't like the situation at all, but I'll do what I have to to make our boy better."

That seemed to mollify the group for a while, all of them displaying their discomfort with situation in different ways. Finally, Kensei reached up to bury his fingers in Mashiro's reiatsu-dyed hair, and asked, softly, "What of the cat?"

"Ichigo told him he didn't want him around, so he's keeping his distance. But he's keeping tabs on him, and he's worried. Pink told me that...when he came to see him to ask this favor, something seemed really wrong. That's why he agreed to the favor, no strings attached." He paused, looking down. "He said it reminded him of a man he knew who was afraid his lover was dying. He's worried about our berry. Very worried."

"That's all we can do then." Yumichika flipped his hair, his signature move that he tried very hard  _not_  to do when in front of Ichigo for the same reason Kisuke resisted his fan. "It would be an insult to his will if we tried to do anything else. Come then, we have a show to perform or Kurosaki-san will become suspicious. Madarame, inform Hitsugaya-taicho that we'll be skipping straight to Mashiro's opening number." Then he moved off with a switch of his hips that indicated he was done with the conversation.

Still not fully satisfied with the outcome of the discussion, the others followed him because the Fifth Seat was right. The show had to go on or everything they had done up to that point would have been for naught. No matter how troubled they were about the orange-haired young man, they couldn't let him onto them, because Urahara was right too. The former Visored would turn that infamous temper on them, and spurn them all for the next dangerous situation he could throw himself into, with little concern for the infection rapidly gaining ground within his body.

The sky overhead matched its owner's mood when he descended the ladder into his basement. He was withdrawn, worried, and uncharacteristically quiet. Now dressed in his normal attire, it was small comfort after a long day watching his former student. His mind was so distracted in fact that he didn't even register the hand on his shoulder until it landed and he jumped with Benehime in his grip at the ready before the other retired Shinigami could blink.

"That bad, huh?" Isshin's eyes were wide, his hands up, palms out in surrender.

Kisuke sighed, re-sheathing his empress with a flourish, "He's not responding as well to the inhaler as we hoped."

The former captain of the Tenth frowned, his stance more relaxed but his expression darker. "I don't know what else we can try. It's that mix of reiatsu he carries. Masaki had the same trouble with antibiotics after the whole hollow thing, remember?"

"Which is why," the shopkeeper swung his cane up onto his shoulder, "we are going to Sereitei in the hopes that a transfusion will at least return his regenerative abilities that might just keep him alive."

In a flash of light the senkaimon opened, and their jigokuchou escorts appeared to carry them safely to the Court of Pure Souls through the dangai.

"It bothers me that this should be so vicious in him though. He was never a sick child. A few broken bones, cuts, bruises, the occasional sniffle, but he was always a fighter. Right down to the cellular level." Isshin groused. "Why is his body just giving up now!?"

"Well, we don't know that it wasn't his soul keeping him alive to begin with. Perhaps our dearly departed hollow had more to do with his body than we first thought, and it wasn't any act of mine that wakened the beast."

The brunette raised an eyebrow with the same inflection as his son.

Kisuke flipped his fan in front of his face in defense. "I simply mean that perhaps we shut the creature out before we truly understood what we were doing with it. They've certainly given the others added 'benefits' from living in their souls."

It seemed for a moment, as they exited into the Soul Society, that Isshin was going to be angry for the suggestion, but he met and locked eyes with the current captain of the Fifth, and sighed. "If it saves his life, I'll re-infect him myself if I have to."

Shinji Hirako gave his signature grin, clapping both men on the shoulder, "Mah, some serious discussion goin' on here. Should git ta my office before we worry th' natives more'n they already are, ne?"

Both former shinigami looked at him in confusion, their other senses tuned to pick up the nervous chatter flitting about between butterflies and squad members. Something had them all tense, and the word "Sixth" kept popping up. Kisuke and Isshin frowned, their attention re-focusing on their comrade.

"Haven't ya heard? Bya-bo's gotten re-married. But that ain't what's got'em all atwitter." Shinji said easily, as though they were discussing the weather. A silent prompt from the other two had him continuing, "Nah, it's Abarai-kun. He's up and disappeared, an' th' way I figure it…" He gave Kisuke a knowing looking, "if there's one person who'd know anythin' 'bout it, it'd be you."

The fan flipped out again to cover the shopkeeper's face. "I'm afraid I have to say I haven't the slightest idea where Freeloader-san has gotten himself off to. He hasn't shown up for work for nearly two months now, I'm afraid I've had to list him as fired."

His tone said apologetic and concerned, but his eyes held secrets for which neither of the others were willing to bargain. If Kisuke had helped Renji disappear, no one would find him again until the vibrant redhead wanted to be found, and both Shinji and Isshin knew personally how all too well the blond scientist was at hiding people who didn't want to be found. So, the captain of the Fifth subsided.

"Ah. Well, then, let's see about gettin' that reiatsu, yeah?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops! Yumi's seat is now fixed. Thanks for pointing that out for me, [Eva](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2363389/)! ^_^0


	6. Chapter 6

July fifteenth. Not a particularly spectacular day exactly, at least not to people who weren't born on that day. Unlike a certain orange-haired, former Visored-turned-stripper. A week of being Mr. Pink's pampered pet and he was going out of his mind. He didn't much care about the inhalers, and pills, and blood tests, and having to spend a good portion of his day cooped up in the flamboyant businessman's penthouse apartment, it helped him get ahead in his lessons after all, but he wasn't allowed to dance at the club. If he went there, he had to have one of the guy's creepy bodyguards with him at all times so he couldn't even  _think_  of dancing, not even for fun! Since Mr. Candy Man had essentially sold him to what he was beginning to assume was a mafia  _DON_ , Ichigo had danced a total of once. On the day he'd arrived. That was it. Sex was entirely off the table, not just from his end, but Mr. Pink had insisted on it. He'd had to sign a contract that was legally binding that stated if he had sexual relations with any of the people under Mr. Pink's employ or Mr. Pink himself, all of the funding was forfeit and he could face fines for defacing property and possibly even jailtime. It had blown his mind, but there really wasn't much he could do about any of it except go along with the eccentric freak of nature. But not tonight! Tonight was special and he  _really_  didn't give a shit that the gigantic blond insisted he stay home and take it easy.

Ha!

He  _always_  danced on his birthday! He'd been dancing on his birthday since before he was allowed to be paid for doing it! It hadn't always been at Candy Land, but as long as Goat Face had been letting him leave the house after dark he'd been sneaking into clubs and dancing most of the night away, at first for drinks and then later for money. All of it was under the table until last year when he'd been hired at Candy Land. Since he'd been hired on the spot, he took this ritual of being out dancing on his birthday as a serious tradition. And no towering busybody was going to interfere with it, mafia don or not!

So, after the thugs who escorted him back to his father's house that afternoon had left, he slipped around through the kitchen, up to his room and out the window in a new outfit; distressed jeans, worn threadbare and white across the tops of his thighs and the front of his knees in an uneven pattern, a relaxed three-quarter sleeve tee with DJ Snowcone's logo in different styles across the front and down the shoulders, and topped off with a pseudo-formal vest that was made specifically to pretend to be for a suit but was never really intended to match one. Across the back, though it wasn't visible under normal light, was Candy Land's logo and slogan, but seeing as how that was where he was headed, he didn't much mind that both it and the shirt were promotional wear for the dancers. He checked the calendar on his phone because if he was right in his counting DJ Snowcone would be the one on the turntables, and the short, angry, black man was Ichigo's favorite; he always chose exactly the right song to match the emotions of the performer, and it was something of a saying about the club, 'if Snowcone's on the tables, he'll make it rain cold, hard, cash'.

Mr. Pink had found out several things about Strawberry in that one, short, week. Number one. He HATED being told what to do. Number two. He was an adorable little shit but true to his word. Number three. When he  _really_  wanted to do something, nothing and nobody could stop him, physically or otherwise. Number five. He was dancing on his birthday and the businessman couldn't do a damn thing about it.

That was what led to where he was now: straddling a sleek black bike he'd borrowed from a subordinate because his own bright pink one would have stood out far too much, and waiting outside Strawberry's family home. He knew the boy was going to sneak out; it was simply a matter of following him and making sure that when he danced he didn't go down for it, or collapse.

Number four, however, was something the big man had found out about himself that he had forgotten in recent years; having everything come easily: he really...  _really_  liked a chase and coaxing around a stubborn son of a bitch. So he cruised at a distance, to keep from being obvious. He was fairly certain the young dancer wasn't going to his usual place of employment, but he didn't know him well enough yet to predict where he  _would_ go. Hence, following him, or that was what the businessman told himself to keep from being too entertained by the physical act of stalking the boy.

The ex-shinigami-daiko had no idea he was being followed, but he didn't move all that quickly either. He knew his new limitations to some extent, and if he wanted to dance, he had to pace himself. Oh, how he missed  _sonido_. He'd have settled for ordinary flash step at that point, but there was no use mourning it. He had to be content with the trip taking nearly two hours. Again.

When Ichigo made it to the intersection before his work, he honestly debated going somewhere else, someplace where they didn't know about his health issues, and he could get on stage without too much fuss. But then he thought again about the part regarding his health issues, and rubbed his chest absently. He didn't really understand why his body was betraying him like this, and according to Mr. Pink all of his blood tests and scans had come back without trouble. Or at least, he hadn't been told anything was wrong. There obviously was something the matter with him, but he refused to think about how angry the secrets made him tonight. He  _hated_  not being told what was going on, especially when it concerned him, but this was his birthday, he didn't want to be stressed out by anything. Unfortunately though, that made up his mind for him, and he jogged lightly down the street towards the brightly flashing confectionary themed strip club.

OH. So he WAS going to... well, alright. Mr. Pink followed him, still at a distance, because he didn't dare actually pass the volatile young man. His intimidating figure, even hunched low over the bike to reduce wind resistance, was impossible to mistake. So he meandered along until Strawberry actually got into the doors, then parked and followed after.

The floor show was in full gear when the orangette slipped through the back door into the DJ booth. He cheered internally for a moment because he'd been right, then he came up and put a hand on the back of the DJ's chair. Snowcone whipped around, glaring, the lights from below dying the white 'frost' highlights in his hair multi-colors.

"The fuck are you doing here, K-Strawberry?"

For the first time since January, Ichigo's smile came easily as he spread his hands unashamed. "It's my birthday."

"Alright. Fine." The frosty DJ turned back to his mixer, "We expected you to show up anyway. You're up after Mocha. Just go get dressed. I've got you covered."

"Yes!"

He was out of the booth and down the stairs to the dressing room faster than he probably should have, but he was pumped up! This was why Candy Land was his favorite club, even on his nights off. He dressed quickly out of his street clothes into LED Tripps, net shirt, and black light reflective make-up on his lips, eyes and scattered as invisible glitter across his cheeks, shoulders and torso. He was already feeling the beat of the music, stretching himself out to the song before his own, such that by the time he was waiting in the wings, he was bouncing on his toes in the Glow Boots he had under the baggy pantlegs.

Mr. Pink had installed himself at the very back of the audience, and was enjoying the show and waiting patiently for Strawberry to come on. Even without the contract, he loved to watch that boy dance. It was bad how much he wanted to ASK him to perform, he knew; he'd promised to keep it to once or twice a week, but damn it, he wanted three dances a day and sex in between! Curse the sickness the boy had and the stress it put on him!

Mocha finished his performance with a shake of tanned asscheeks and a flirty wink over his shoulder as he bent down to pick up his shirt, then exited the stage with a strut that had the audience cheering. Then the lights cut out, and a heavy dub-step rippled through the speakers at full volume. It cut through the cheering and left dead silence in its wake. The microphone crackled and a voice broke the anticipation like a sledgehammer through glass.

"DJ SNOWCONE! IN DA HOUSE! Givin' it up! Bad Boy Berry! We gotta birthday ta celebrate, asswipes! C'mon! Lemme hear ya SCREAM IT!"

A roar followed, chanting the orangette's codename. "Straw-ber-ry! Straw-ber-ry! Straw-ber-ry!"

The music started hard, a rushing bass guitar and cymbal drumming, the first time the full set crashed, Ichigo flipped out onto the stage, and lit up from toes to his hands, spinning large glowsticks in rhythm with the synthesized choral voices. The long drawn out notes were where he bent backwards impossibly far, the lights along the edge of the catwalk glowing and bouncing off the reflective make-up he wore. His hips gyrated and he played hulahoop with the light of his spinning sticks. At another hesitation, he flipped down the long stage over his light without using his hands on the wood surface, landing on his feet twice, before falling into a full split that popped the sides of his pants to reveal the LEDs outlining the contours of his legs. Keeping the glowsticks spinning, he bent forward and rolled over to stick one boot up into the air, the zipper flying up as though he was using his mind to pull it off. In reality it was the string from his right hand glowstick, but the blacklights and shadows hid that.

He folded in half, spinning the lights out and around behind his back as his hips lifted off the stage floor. His toes touched over his head and he back-rolled up onto his feet again, the left boot mysteriously missing as the two halves of his pants flipped about his legs showing peeks of glitter-dusted asscheek and a glow-in-the-dark thong. He spun and kicked and drew the line of light down his front, casting deep shadows on his hip bones. Then turned again and wrapped the strings of the glowsticks around the pole along with his hand. He hauled himself up on it, hooking a knee around it, and spun slowly, letting the fabric flare out and then with the crossing of his other leg, he tore the long parts away, leaving only his crotch still covered in the dark fabric.

Letting gravity aid him in hanging upside down, he began to work the net shirt over his abs and pectorals, the music fast-paced and driving the speed of his strip. He slipped it down and down until it wrapped around one arm, then he flung it aside and rolled his spine from his shoulders to his hips, grinding his groin against the pole. He grasped the metal over his head, which was closer to the stage and 'walked' in midair down and around until he was upright again. A final back bend popped the button-snap fly of the left-over shorts and a juicy wiggle of his hips sent them cascading down his legs in time with the final guitar riff in the song.

Money  _flew_  onto the stage as the berry picked himself back up and the lights came on. Snowcone cut through the din of cheering with a squeal of the microphone again, "LEMME HEAR YA MAKE SOME NOISE!"

Mr. Pink was left sitting there quite stunned, as he hadn't attended the birthday show last year, and very, very uncomfortable with a wet stain inside the boxers he was glad he'd worn for a change. The sheer power of the performance had brought him to trembling awe, completely forgetting the reason he'd followed Strawberry in the first place: to keep an eye on him and be on hand in case he overexerted himself.

To his left, a certain blue-haired Visored leaned in and said, "Yeah. I know." Just loud enough that he could be heard over the din of screaming fans that Snowcone kept encouraging.

Startled just about out of his skin, the blond nearly spilled his drink. "Sh-  _JESUS_  christ Blue, don't surprise me like that," he practically hissed, bristled up. "He does this kind of performance regularly? Fuck, no wonder he's so physically exhausted."

Grimmjow shrugged and flopped into the seat next to the bigger man, sipping on his drink-an electric blue something that matched his hair. "He's always been like that though. Go big or go the fuck home. First time I met him he was so fuckin' out classed he didn't stand a chance, but he wouldn't back down an' he hasn't ever since."

"So I've learned that over the past week," Came the dry reply as the bigger man sat back a bit in his chair and watching the crowd. "Couldn't keep him from coming out here tonight."

"Ya actually tried?!" The feline laughed loudly, enough that several people nearby turned and looked at him.

The din was dying down, now that Ichigo had left the stage and a trio of pretty girls were up on the poles. 'Half time' by the regulars' standard, the point in the night where most of the headliners had gone once already, and everybody was on break for food, smokes, and hydration. In about an hour or so the ones who were dancing double or triple would start coming back out again, but for now, DJ Snowcone had some simple beats going and the extended catwalk was retracted so that those who were adventurous enough could get up and dance for themselves. There was always a small crowd of teenyboppers and ravers that insisted that they could make the uncoordinated bouncing the whole lot of them did into something worth watching, but really all it did was give everyone else in the club a chance to cool down.

"I have to keep up appearances," the other defended, pouting. "I can't let the boy know he can walk all over me, he's only been in my company a week!" Movement up on the stage made him look up, and his face crinkled in disgust. "Oh for the love of- ick. I dance better than that, fuck's sake. Will Strawberry dance again or can I wait outside for him to leave?"

"Nah, on his birthday they'll take him out back, give him a shot or two, celebrate his dance. Mocha baked him a cake last y-"

A scratch over the record cut through Grimmjow's words, and one of the Flavors screamed over the din of the club, "PLEASE TELL ME ONE OF YOU IS A DOCTOR!?"

The big man swore, flipping out his cell phone and thankful he'd called in a favor tonight. "You're in the club?"

"Already moving. Call the rescue squad, Pop; I've got my bag to make him stable but if it's as bad an attack as I think it is, I'll need hospital equipment."

"Shit. Alright, go." Mr. Pink snapped the phone shut and opened it again to dial nine-one-one. "Go to him, Blue- my son is already on it. Go with him."

From among the crowd, a man in a peculiar hat had gotten up, a heavy duffel back on his shoulder. "I'm a doctor- let me through! Take me to the patient!"

The blunette was already moving, and ducked through two people to flash step through the door at the back. Mocha was holding Ichigo to his chest, Vanilla and Chai fanning him with a couple notebooks. Licorice had the door Grimmjow and the doctor came through, closing it behind them both quickly so that none of the club patrons could see what was going on. Mr. Candy Man's voice was muffled through the stage curtains, apologizing for the ruckus and offering coupons to make up for the delay in performances. Coconut stood in the background, holding Tutti Fruitti, and DJ Snowcone was hanging off the ladder that was the secondary entrance to his booth.

The orangette, in the middle of everything, was unconscious.

The doctor started working right away, checking pulse, vitals, grabbing things out of his bag and working to get the man his father had agreed to look after stable enough for a ride to the hospital. He put on gloves and got to work, having him moved to the couch and laid flat just in case he needed chest compressions. Everything checked out as normal. Pulse was steady, blood pressure was good, he was a tad dehydrated, but otherwise, there seemed to be nothing wrong. Except he had a fever and was sweating. The paramedics, when they arrived, hooked him up with saline IV, and went over what had happened with the dark haired young doctor who'd been on scene. In the end, he was diagnosed with acute exhaustion, and discharged.

So, when the former Visored woke again, he was in his own bed, in his own room, in his own house, and extremely confused. He frowned, looking about the place, trying to piece together what had happened and why he felt like he had an elephant laying on his chest. A flash of blue caught his attention; curled up against his side, Grimmjow was sleeping, his lower half seated in Ichigo's desk chair, and his upper half pillowed partly on his arms, partly on the orangette's chest, his ear pressed up against his ex-lover's heart as though he had to hear it beating in order to sleep soundly.

For a while he resisted, but the stress lines carved between sky blue eyebrows and habit brought his fingers up to comb through the matching bangs. The gesture was bittersweet. He knew without a doubt when the man awoke things would go back to the current status quo. Since his performance in Candyman Grimmjow had kept his distance. As though after months of relentless chasing the feline Visored had finally gotten the message that he and Ichigo were over; something the orangette wasn't sure he actually wanted anymore. Especially since it now meant that he didn't have the blunette showing up at random moments right when he needed him. He looked down at his former lover and found himself sighing.

The motion of his chest disturbed the sleeping cat, and after a couple blinks, Grimmjow bolted upright, embarrassed, "Uhh… you… we… it wasn't…"

He sounded nervous and Ichigo immediately decided that wasn't a good look for the former Espada. So he waved him off and tried to pull the larger man back down again only to find all the strength his arms could muster wasn't even enough to get the other to flinch.

"It's fine, c'mere."

Silence stretched between them when another tug was no more effective than the first. Grimmjow did his best to avoid looking directly at his ex-lover, even as Ichigo found himself trying o catch the blunette's eyes. It created a tension that grew heavier with every passing moment.

Eventually the redhead gave up. He flopped back onto his pillows with an exasperated breath and flung his arm over his eyes. As such, he didn't see Grimmjow's attention snapping to him with a thousand words trapped behind his stubborn pride.

Another minute passed before they both began to speak at the same time.

"I—"

"Did—"

Burning amber over weary shadows met electric blue under heavy brows. Something that Ichigo would have attributed to his inner Hollow two years ago passed between them. An electric sensation that had them both breathless.

Grimm, more used to the reactions his instincts forced on his body, recovered faster, "I should go."

He didn't even wait for the former shinigami to respond, he was already moving out of the room, his leather jacket from the back of the chair in his hands. His claws tore at the collar, and he hunched his shoulders, dejected, defeated, like life had battered away at his spirit in a way that Hueco Mundo never had. The blunette barely looked like himself and it tore at Ichigo's insides. This was not the man he'd fought and loved! This man, who had worked under the most despicable soul the four realms had ever seen; who'd been taught from the beginning that all he had to do was keep fighting; who had survived the worst that Hollows and Shinigami alike could throw at him; who had earned the respect of the self-proclaimed Last Quincy; and in the end, who had secured himself a permanent place in Ichigo's heart… He had no business looking like that.

"You're hiding something."

The blunette turned, a frown creasing his brow. Ichigo was sitting up, the blanket that had been covering him pooled in his lap, leaving him bare from the waist up save for the classic number 6 hanging around his neck. The sun caught it and Grimmjow tracked the glint like his tiny domesticated cousins.

"Dunno what yer talkin' about." He shrugged, affecting nonchalance.

"No." The orangette glared, pushing himself to the edge of the bed, "Don't play games with me. I can tell when you're lying."

"It's not worth talking about."

The feline Visored forcibly tore his gaze from his ex, focusing instead on the tiny model globe on the desk beside him. He tapped it with a finger, making it spin, his pupils dilating as he followed the movement with the same attention he would give when stalking prey.

Ichigo pouted angrily, "Of course not. Why would I want to talk to you about anything? It's not like I haven't been human all my life. Or the possibility that whatever it is might involve me. Because you make all the decisions here, never once considering your boyfriend's opinion on the matter!"

"Yer not."

Amber eyes flashed with gold as they blew wide, "What?!"

Grimmjow turned to him, the weariness from before was back, "I said yer not. Ya ain't m'boyfriend."

The former Espada frowned as the younger man wilted, a bubbling anger rising through his exhaustion to burn hotly on his face.

"Ya kicked me out. Told me ta get lost. Said ya couldn't handle datin' somebody who acted like a tomcat 'roun a buncha queens in heat. So, no, it ain't worth talkin' 'bout."

"Now wait just a minute Grimm—"

"Why?!" Grimmjow cut him off, taking a stance similar to his days as the Sexta, "So ya can lecture me 'bout how humans work? I'm good thanks. Group a lazy, self-centered, greedy, animals. Ya think ya've got that market cornered? That cuz I ain't got a heart I can't learn? Fuck ya, Shinigami! I didn't spend m'whole afterlife survivin' just ta be beaten by some filthy herdbeasts with a superiority complex!"

Ichigo was stunned into silence and he was sure when the shock wore off his was going to be furious, but for now all he could do was gape at the blue-haired menace.

Who was talking again, "Ya've been fuckin' special since the first fuckin' I laid eyes on ya. I gave ya shit I ain't never given anybody else. And all I asked fer in return was freedom. Away from meddlin' Shinigami wantin' ta poke their noses inta m'life. The rest of it was just icin'. But ya can't practice what ya preach, ya say I c'n do what I want but then turn 'round and say I can't. And when I do it anyway, cuz ya fuckin' knew I was gonna, with er without ya agreein', when I do it anyway, ya flip out at me like ya actually expected me ta follow the rules. I ain't a housepet, Shinigami, and ya shouldn't expect me ta act like one."

When it seemed like he'd drawn to a close, Ichigo gathered his thoughts. The blunette was lashing out. Why, other than their run around game, the former Visored couldn't understand, but he was certain, more so than he had ever been before, that all of this was bluster for something. A cover for some pain too deep for the retired Arrancar to accurately articulate. Surprisingly, this knowledge drained his anger, letting a flood of something akin to pity wash over him like a soothing shower. He pushed himself up to stand, a hand resting lightly on the larger man's chest. They both stared at it like they weren't sure why it was there, then Ichigo looked up.

"What's this really about, Grimm?"

The big man's mouth sagged and his shoulders dropped as his hand came up to cover Ichigo's and press it closer to the heart he did indeed have, no matter how he tried to deny it. "...I can't fight sickness, Ichi. A disease ain't a hollow I can tear t'shreds or a shinigami I c'n eat alive. Yer hurtin' an' I can't do anythin', an' ya don' wan' me around. I dunno what t'do with m'self." He huffed, a sharp, unhappy noise more of disgust than anything else. "What good's it bein' free when everythin' I really want ain't there fer me t'have?"

"What if... would..."

The former Visored bit his lip, stepping closer with a hesitant shake in his movements. He searched his ex's face, worry, concern, and no small amount of want evident in the spaces between the valleys carved out by sickness.

His voice cracked when he spoke again, "And if you could have it?"

The feline managed a tiny, lopsided, almost-smile. "Then I don't think I'd mind settlin' down. I mean, I've gotten a taste o' what it's like...an' I found what I really desire. An' I don' settle for less than th'best, eh? Even when it's more'n I deserve." His eyes were soft; hurt.

"No more drugs. No more sleeping around. If you want other partners you talk to me first. We'll work it out. Okay?"

Ichigo found himself surprisingly nervous-what if Grimm had already found something else, what if he wouldn't accept those terms, what if he did and he broke them again-a thousand questions rattled around in his head, and internally he cursed as he felt exhaustion draining his muscles again. The hand against the blunette's shirt gripped the fabric tightly, the tension clear that he was holding himself up only through sheer willpower.

"I think that sounds...good. Th'drugs...ehh, I don't like 'em all that much anyway. Makes me nervous when m'senses ain't peak. An' I don' really need anyone else. Talkin' ta you first seems like somethin' I could do," he agreed; a bit too easily. Then again, knowing what he knew, he... didn't really want to sleep around anymore anyway.

Grimmjow's arms came around his waist in the steady, firm, strong hold Ichigo knew so well. If he was suspicious, the orangette didn't have the endurance to think on it, as he gladly took strength from his-well, his boyfriend. It brought a smile to his lips and he closed his eyes, almost against his will, leaning heavily into the embrace.

He hummed, listening to the blunette's heartbeat, "S'good...missed you."

The Arrancar nuzzled into orange hair, then picked him up and took him back to bed, sliding in with him to share heat, inhaling his scent like it was the last breath he'd ever take. "Missed you too, Kitten."

"This sucks."

Ichigo's words were garbled, the frustration of the situation clear through the fact that he rolled up so that he was laying on top of his tomcat, his nose buried in the center of Grimmjow's chest and his body curled up as tightly inside the larger man's arms as he could get. Had he more thought to put into the process he'd have realized that he was reacting to instincts he usually tamped down behind his mental image of 'humanity', but he was tired, worn thin by the constant ups and downs over course of the past year, and more than the physical wasting away, he didn't have the attention he needed to maintain such fallacies.

He mumbled, "Dun like bein' sick."

Grimmjow flinched. "...Me either, Ichi."


	7. Chapter 7

The sun warmed his skin under the light blanket. He didn't know how long he'd slept but he had a feeling that however long it had been, he didn't have anything else he needed to do right then. He blinked sleepily up at the man he knew was still there watching him as he regained his energy. The beat of a heart different from his own, and yet so familiar, woke him slowly, bringing a smile to his lips.

"Hey." He said roughly.

"Hey yourself, Kitten." The rumbling vibration of deep baritone shook the bigger man's chest under where the strawberry lay.

He pulled himself up, sliding along his lover's body to steal a long-awaited kiss. He rolled his spine, running his hands across thick ropes of muscle. He purred lowly into the kisses, feeling answering hands slip under the blanket to caress his thighs from knee to hip. He followed the lines of Grimmjow's body up over his chest and around behind where his head met the pillow to tangle with the deceivingly soft blue strands behind his slightly pointed ears. He was breathless by the time their lips parted, but it was the good kind, where it meant his heart was racing but he wasn't so lost that the dreaded tickle in the back of his throat could ruin things. He rolled his hips again, feeling an answering stirring beneath him. It had been so long, and oh but he wanted!

"Mmm, Grimm…" He hummed, deliberately grinding himself against his lover, the wide, calloused palms guiding his movements while too-sharp teeth growled around their tugging on his ear.

The marked increase of breathing in his ear gave Grimmjow pause. He wanted to ravish his strawberry kitten more than anything, having missed this closeness and the feel of the mate he knew instinctively was his, but his beloved was ill, worse off than he himself. So he rolled them over, cushioning Ichigo on the pillows, and positioning himself between the orangette's mile-long legs. His mouth found prominent collarbones and sucked small bruises into the skin there, tracing his fingertips down a stomach too thin and concave to be healthy. Ichigo arched his spine into the touches, his eyes fluttering and a moan escaping his lips. He hung onto his lover as the feline Visored brought him higher slowly, a sensual rise from soft kisses to butterfly-light claws.

Already his erection strained the front of his pajama pants, but the blunette expertly avoided it. He even held his own hips away, preventing even the accidental brush of denim against sensitive skin. Instead, he tasted, sucked and bit gently out across the smaller man's shoulder to his bicep, then down to his chest, worshipping both pectorals before flicking the tip of his tongue against a dusky nipple. He brought it to hardness, alternating between licking and nipping with small puffs of air in between.

Ichigo dug his fingers into the thick blue hair, trying to get his lover to move faster, only to fail, overwhelmed by the sensations assaulting his senses. His eyes smoldered under heavy lids when Grimmjow dropped to trace his faded abdominals with his tongue. The blunette's fingers ran up and down his sides, tracing the lines of his freckles, and desire made the feline's already intense gaze that much more enthralling.

It made the Visored break off his exploration to surge back up and capture the younger man's mouth, his hands pulling slender hips up into his lap so they could grind together through their respective pants.

Ichigo clung to his tee-shirt and mumbled against his lips, "S'not fair, y'know."

"Hmm, what is?"

"You're wearing all those clothes, and I'm just in these."

"Should prob'bly fixit huh?"

The blunette snickered, and sat up to pull his shirt off. The ripple of bronzed skin with that massive, trademark, scar down the middle made Ichigo catch his breath in his throat hungrily. He licked his lips and made grabby hands to pull the massive cat back down into his arms.

Crashing together, they rolled like waves on the shore, voices growling at the same time at the pressure between them, but when the orangette went for Grimmjow's fly, a big hand came down to stop him. Confused, amber looked up, his brows drawing together in silent question.

"Let's not rush it, eh? We got all night, and a lotta makin' up ta do."

The words hung for a moment between them, something too easy about the former Espada's smile. Ichigo almost questioned him, but at the last possible second, just as he was getting nervous that his cover wasn't holding, the strawberry gave in, nodding with his hands back up at Grimm's waist. His smile came more naturally then as he re-captured the orangette's mouth with a purr.

Something stirred beneath the surface, some inner voice that wasn't quite words. A pounding of drums to the pace of his heartbeat, and the whisper of wind that wasn't outside rushed in his ears as they devoured each other. There was a calling from somewhere beyond the orangette's current senses, but he knew, because he remembered what it felt like before they'd gone dark, that it was a tugging in that place where his ability to see ghosts had originated. He moaned for the way it blossomed behind his eyelids. He couldn't hear it, couldn't grasp it, and when he tried to focus on it, it vanished, but it was there, he could feel it in the way his lover responded under his fingertips that the feline Visored felt it too.

For all his bluster of taking it slow, Grimmjow growled lowly, panting against Ichigo's pulse, drawing his scent deeper and deeper with each breath. For the first time in longer than he cared to think about, he felt the stirrings of reiatsu beneath his lover's skin. It made his fingers dance and trace every dip and curve he could find, sucking him in like the starved beast he once had been on the empty sands. He rolled his spine, dragging his chest and hips against Ichigo's, sparks lighting up like the friction of hierro clashing against itself. He could  _taste_  the answering soul locked away inside the former Visored.

Another of those delicious moans broke through the orangette's lips as he grabbed a hold on his lover's shoulders. "Grrrimmmm…"

"Mm?" Came the reply in his ear, their hips grinding again.

"I… need…"

"Mmm…"

One of the larger man's hands came down to press against the fabric of his lover's pajamas, massaging in time with his own movements so that the back of his knuckles did to himself what his fingerpads were doing to Ichigo. For several strokes of his hand, all the younger could do was squeeze his eyes shut, panting through an open mouth, wanting more, but it quickly became clear that was all the further the blunette was going to go.

"Grimmmm…" Once again his name was drawn out in a reluctant moan. "Need… mmmmore…"

"Can't." He said unthinkingly.

It made the former Visored stop, frozen and confused. His lover had never turned down sex, in fact he'd been even hinting at it while they'd been apart, several times outright propositioning the strawberry before he got sick. His rationale then had been that it was just sex and it wouldn't mean anything. For obvious reasons, he'd been turned away, but that made this refusal that much more alarming for Ichigo now that, not only was he allowed to ravish the younger man, the orangette was deliberately asking for it.

He placed both hands on Grimmjow's chest and pushed him back, frowning up at him. "What… do you mean… 'can't'?"

The former Arrancar sighed, catching his own breath, and looked away. "I… I mean I can't. We can't. S'not a big deal, we just… s'not a thing… we c'n do… yer not well enough. Ya'll end up coughin' and shit again. Send ya back ta the hospital. I don't wanna… yer dad'll cleanse me straight outta m'skin if I hurt ya. Anymore."

Ichigo outright scowled. The feeling that something wasn't sitting quite right was back, and he was tired of them all keeping whatever it was from him. He scooted himself back, forcing the larger man to sit on his heels, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Out with it."

Grimmjow met him glare for glare. "Is it wrong ta care 'bout ya? If ya hadn't noticed, ya've been in an' outta the hospital fourteen times since January. An' half th' time s'cuz yer pushin' yerself too hard, an' not restin' when ya should. How do we know yer even cleared for shit like this!?"

"We don't, I'm not, and thank you very much for reminding me just how pathetic I've been lately!"

"That's not what I meant, and you fuckin' know it!"

A thick finger waggled in his face and Ichigo was tempted to bite it. Instead, he bared his teeth, growling, "Is this how you treat all of your lovers or am I special?"

"Of course yer special! But that ain't what this is 'bout neither!" The blunette bit back, coming nose to nose with his lover.

"Then is this some game? Work me up and leave me hanging out to dry while you go pound some floozy in my place? Cause I'm not playing second fiddle to your other hangers-on, Grimm. If I'm your boyfriend, you're gonna treat me like your boyfriend, not just some tart you've picked up because I'm handy!"

Grimmjow growled loudly, "THERE AREN'T ANY OTHERS CUZ YOU AIN'T M'BOYFRIEND, YER MY MATE!"

All ready for another round of screaming and tearing at one another, Ichigo was stunned into silence by the last word, which resonated with something deep and fundamental. They both hung there, the orangette blinking, his mouth hung open slightly. Color rose to the feline's cheeks and he coughed, looking away.

"Yer… my mate." He mumbled, as if confirming it because he'd never said it out loud before. He sank back again, rubbing the back of his neck and scrutinizing the blanket shoved to the side of the bed. "I… meant it. When I said… ya were special. Ain't never had a… a real mate, b'fore. S'a new feelin'. Makes me cautious. Wanna pr'tect ya, an' stuff."

Ichigo reached out and cupped the side of the blunette's face, forcing him to turn back to look at him. "Then why won't you let me love you like I want to?"

"Cuz it ain't safe. Ya could get sicker. Who knows what sorta… diseases… I might've picked up. It wasn't safe, what I was doin'." The cat was dancing around the real answer, a pit in his stomach deeper and colder than the hole he'd worn as an Espada. "Never been scareda consequences b'fore. I just  _did_. If it fucked me over, it meant I didn't  _do_  hard enough and I needed ta train more. In the desert, ya either survived, or ya didn't, and if ya didn't, it meant ya weren't strong enough. But this ain't somethin' I can fight. It's so fuckin' tiny I can't put my claws inta it. It just gets inside ya, and it carves ya out. And there ain't nothin' I c'n do 'bout it!"

He reached out and ran his thumb over the depression of his lover's cheek, something unnamed in his eyes.

"I didn't know. I thought it was the same. I came here, an' I didn't listen. And… I picked this fight without thinkin' 'bout my pride. Done that twice now."

The orangette frowned. He didn't quite understand what his lover meant exactly, but there was one thing he'd picked up on. He sat rigidly, a blank mask over his expression, and he took the feline Visored's hand down from his face, though he didn't let it go once it was in his lap between them.

"Grimm, are you…" He hestitated, "Did you catch something?" There was an even bigger, more heavily weighted, pause. "And give it to me?"

Shame, pure and simple, wrote itself across the former Espada's face. He couldn't look at him, he pulled his hand back and tried to climb back away from the smaller man. His shoulders were hunched and his stomach curled inward like he'd been punched. Lying had never been something he was particularly good at, and lying to his mate of all people was impossible. His instincts wouldn't let him.

Ichigo caught his lover's fingers and held him with surprising strength. This was all wrong! Take the egotistical bastard down a few notches, yes, but defeat him entirely?! He had  _never_ wanted that. He pulled, distressed more by how willing to be guided the blunette was, and as soon as he was in range, the former Shinigami wrapped his arms fiercely around the larger shoulders, forcing his lover to bury his face in his neck. He smoothed the blue hair with his cheek, putting his mouth next to the feline's ear.

"You didn't know, but you're wrong."

"Hmm." Grimmjow couldn't say anything more from the way his lover had him trapped.

"You do have a heart. If you didn't, it wouldn't hurt right now."

The bigger man started to shaking in his embrace, and for a second Ichigo thought he was crying. Then he was felt the press of teeth, and there were tears, but when the blunette pulled back, he put his hands on either side of his beloved's face, kissing him soundly while fighting a smile. He had joy in his eyes, squinting with how hard he was grinning in between kisses.

"Uhh…"

Frankly it was confusing as hell, but Grimmjow simply laughed, held his lover tighter and purred in his ear. "I love ya, Kitten. There's reasons why Hollows don't take mates ta often, and this right here's the number one, most important thin'. You gorgeous pillar o' strength an' power. If only ya had yer reiatsu still. We'd make such cubs."

"Okay?"

The former Visored wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but as he hadn't ever heard of cubs or baby Hollows in any shape other than tortured human souls, he figured that there was a reason for his lover's outburst. So, he simply wrapped his arms around him, and chuckled a little ruefully, catching the blunette's good mood.

"Does this mean we can fuck now?" He teased.

Grimmjow started, pulling back a little, and frowned, "I dunno. I mean… It still ain't safe. It's in m'blood. Doc says if I get cut I c'n infect people." He shook his head at that. "Never thought me gettin' hurt could other people, but this human shit don't make much sense. How come there's somethin' like this at all? Shouldn't ya have some kinda immunity ta this kinda shit, if yer the strongest race in yer world? Never heard of a Hollow gettin' sick like this."

"Like what, Grimm? I can't tell you what's going on, if you don't tell me what you're infected with." Ichigo tilted his head, his mouth screwing up to the side.

"Um… The name don't wanna stick wit' me. Otto Mune Efficiency er somethin'. Think they call it Hate-Eye-Vee?" The feline's tongue tripped over the words, catching them between his fangs with a frustrated sort of growl.

It took a few moments to work out what he could be referring to, but a light came on in the younger man's mind. "Autoimmune deficiency."

"Yeah. That's what they called it. It's s'posed ta be really bad 'nless ya catch it early and take the meds they give ya. I been doin' that, but the doc said somethin' 'bout I ain't s'posed ta bleed on people cuz they could catch it that way."

His lover's tone was nonchalant, if slightly confused, but Ichigo felt like he'd been socked in the gut. No wonder his dad hadn't said anything, and Yuzu kept bursting into tears when she came to see him. The looks they gave him, the way they all fussed over him, the special accommodations from both Mr. Candy Man and the school, even having that mob boss 'buying' him, suddenly everything all made sense. He suddenly couldn't breathe for an entirely different reason as all the pieces fit together with a shattering sound within his head.

A crack of thunder made him jump halfway across the bed, and his vision snapped to the window, where the sunny afternoon had melted into a heavily overcast evening. Rain pounded against the glass, and lightning flashed, illuminating the city in sharp black and white for a second. His chest heaved and he clung to Grimmjow, who seemed to realize what he'd said.

The larger man shifted them both bodily, making small noises under his breath into his lover's ear. His hands roamed over the orangette's skin, touching, scratching lightly, anything to keep the younger male grounded.

"C'mon, Kitten, we c'n fight this. Stay with me. We're workin' on it. We got the meds and the doc says there's a good chance we c'n live with it without worriyin' 'bout anythin', and ya got friends on the other side, ya know." He kept up the litany of encouragement into his kitten's ear, pulling him into his chest and holding him tightly against the storm.

Within Ichigo's mind there was a crack louder than the thunder in the sky above, and under the cacophony surrounding him an insane cackle sent a shiver running down his spine. He dug his nails into his lover's arms, a keen catching in his throat and panicked eyes searching for support in a sea of chaos.

They held like that for a minute, periodically highlighted by the storm. Then Grimmjow threw caution to the wind and kissed his mate fiercely. He slipped his hands under the slender redhead to grip his rear end under his pajama pants. He flooded the reiatsu centers in the former Visored's chest, pushing through the barriers his burnout had built like scar tissue around his chakras.

Ichigo's response was immediate, he moaned into the kiss, his whole body on fire from the inside out. He had no room for thought and gave into the mind rush. He didn't know exactly what his lover was doing, but there was a crumbling sensation like the shattering of an orgasm through his core. He knew intellectually that he hadn't climaxed, but that was all he knew as his mind was flooded with blue the color of Grimm's eyes. Something howled, and wind ripped past his ears. Teeth sunk into his shoulder, and clothing no longer existed. There was pleasure, but there was also pain, the kind of sharp, clean ache that he associated with training.

Another rumble of thunder found the two Hollows entangled in kissing and grinding and crying out in pleasure. The electricity had gone out, though whether that was Grimmjow or the storm was unclear, as he timed his reiatsu pulses with the jumping of lightning from cloud to cloud.

Internally, he felt Pantera prowling his soul as he gripped their bare cocks together. He couldn't penetrate without breaking his hold on his mate, but he could bring them both to climax before he finished kido-blasting his beloved's chakras open. He felt the swell of the orangette's massive reiatsu just under the surface, roiling and churning with the fury of both storm and sea, a wildfire battering against the barriers with a will of its own. How he  _longed_  to feel it licking his skin again! Even in battle, he'd known that this spitfire hybrid was truly amazing, and if they were going to die, then he'd be damned if they were going to burn out clamped in irons.

Beneath him, Ichigo arched impossibly, his groin in full contact with the other and the space in the center of his chest burning out and down through his body as the soul chain was destroyed with Grimmjow's infusion. He screamed, cracks of light appearing above his face, and the Arrancar pushed harder.

Come on, break!

Higher and higher, more and more, brighter and brighter. The smaller male's hands changed, his nails extending into talons that dug deeply into the meaty shoulders above him, and as the hole filled in with black, so slowly, he bucked up with his hips, tail lashing beneath him. Then it disappeared, shattering into billions of flecks of light that were accompanied by bright red fur exploding from wrists and ankles. Two stripes of white-hot energy carved the air above his face, forcing more into the air, and Grimmjow roared at it.

The creature forcing its way out howled back, thrashing and screaming with rage. White and red and black and anger and so much more. All it needed was just a little more, another push, and it was no longer fighting him, pulling on the blunette's reiatsu like a starving beast. He gasped, body shuddering. All he got in warning was the press of lips against his own, then a reptilian tongue was shoving its way into his mouth, sucking his bottom lip into the other's teeth. Then there was pain and a draining sensation as stars exploded behind his eyes.

Everything swelled to impossible levels, thunder and lightning flashing all around them, the clouds themselves circling the Kurosaki homestead. Then all at once it disappeared, like the inhale of breath before the blast of an atomic bomb.

Hollow screams shattered the storm clouds. All across the city Shinigami and Visoreds in disguise froze, attention brought to the sky unconsciously. The humans with Hollow powers collapsed unconscious under the weight of the spiritual pressure bearing down across Karakura. Even the Last of the Quincy stumbled in his home, his bow flaring to life unconsciously just before it winked back out again, sucked into the void of the soul draining reiatsu from every life he'd ever touched. Silence reigned in the aftermath, the sky crystal clear with brilliant stars, not a single Hollow to be found in the Living World for miles around. It was broken only by the muted sounds of rescue vehicles responding to the various reports of people fainting with no warning.

And in one bedroom, in a remote part of the city, that was very clearly the epicenter of the blast, a large, blue-haired man lay atop his lover, the body he'd been using burned away to reveal his true form; large conical ears covered in emerald fur, white armor plating down his back and over his hips, his hands and feet from the wrists down dyed black with wicked talons, and the crowning detail, the body-length, armor plated, nearly prehensile, black-tipped, feline tail. His breath came in heavy gasps, and his eyes were closed against the head rush threatening to knock him unconscious, but he had to know… had it worked? Was his beloved restored? He felt that flaming reiatsu, but in his own exhaustion, he couldn't tell if it was just what was hanging in the air, or if he had actually accomplished in a few scant hours what the entirety of Soul Society hadn't yet been able to do in the nearly eighteen months they'd been working on it.

It took until dawn for Grimmjow's vision to clear, when it did the sunlight poured in over the place where the feline had been curled up with his mate. And when the orangette's father slammed the door open for his customary good morning; the only sign that there had been anyone in the room was the empty husk, soundless, breathless, and lifeless in the middle of the bed.


	8. Chapter 8

It really shouldn't have surprised Grimmjow when the Shinigami caught up to him. Still, the level of fury was something more than he'd anticipated. A couple of weeks on the run before the Visoreds had found him again, hiding in the pocket spaces between worlds. He was stuck in his newly reclaimed Resurrection, which hindered his movements in both worlds. In Hueco Mundo, he'd be spotted too easily, unable to suppress his reiatsu enough to avoid the stronger Adjuchas just looking for a reason to try and cut him down. And in the Living World, even if most humans were head blind, he couldn't blame them for panicking about a man-sized panther walking around on two legs. So, it really was only a matter of time before Urahara and his bloodhounds found him.

He hadn't expected the level of brutality, the heavy chains around his arms and neck, holding him to the ground of the shopkeeper's basement. The reiatsu draining collar was more normal, but the fist connecting with his cheek and jaw was not. He fell back from the blow, hauled down by the shackles, and grunted, feeling his tail break again. His thighs burned from the broken asauchi embedded in them, but he didn't cry out, he only spat the mouthful of blood back into the retired shinigami's face.

The older man stepped back, still shaking, blood staining his knuckles and the back of his hand as he wiped his mouth. His voice seethed, "Where is he?!"

Grimmjow laughed, loud and sadistic, "Wouldn't ya like ta know, Shinigami!"

The second blow was anticipated, but shocking when it set stars across his vision from a single punch. The voice was grating on his sensitive ears, sharply female, "Aizen's dog. We should've known better."

"Yeah." The feline grinned, refusing to give in. "Ya really think I gave a shit about any single one of ya!? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"RRAUGH! LEMME AT HIM!" The tiniest Visored flailed against the grip of the largest, her eyes bleeding black and her fingers curled into talons, reaching for the one they'd welcomed into their number when he'd escaped the Winter War.

His primary captor stepped into her line of sight with another menacing glare at the Arrancar, "Save your temper, Hiyori-chan. If we tear him to pieces now we'll never find out what he's done with Ichigo. Once Kisuke's given him enough reason to talk, and my son is back with us again, safe and sound, you'll be free to use the Hollow as a punching bag."

"Ya'll never catch Kitten." The Sexta kept grinning.

If they wanted to believe he was solely responsible for Ichigo's death, then he wasn't going to correct them. He knew better, and he had faith that his beloved would show up again when he'd sorted himself out. He had some serious healing to do; his human body had been badly damaged by the disease they hadn't caught in time. And the blunette had to leave it up to the Hollow he knew shared his Kitten's soul.

His own healing was greatly decreased by the reiatsu dampener, and it had him in a lot more pain than he wanted to admit. The edges of his vision kept flickering, growing fuzzy, but he thanked the fact that it added to his delusional façade of being the Sexta Espada again. He didn't even know how they hadn't noticed he had no Hollow hole, the place where it belonged was simply stained black, as though it was painted on, or covered in the same fur as his hands and feet. But in the vaguely intoxicated state of mind where he was half-withdrawing from his medications and half-blood loss, he found the whole thing extraordinarily funny. Much to the irritation of the Shinigami.

Eventually they left, realizing he wasn't going to tell them anything, or possibly they noticed he wasn't exactly coherent. Either way, he was alone when he had the presence of mind to look around again. He bent in half, gripping the burning blade in his left leg with his teeth and pulled. It popped free and the first thing he did was stretch the screaming muscles, flexing his toes in fascination. Then he repeated the process with the right leg, and flopped over in his bonds, staring up at the perpetually sunny ceiling. A tiny voice wormed its way into his mind, begging for moonlight and darkness. He didn't have the wherewithal to squash it before it drove a whimper from his lips.

Truth be told, he didn't know where his mate was, all he knew was that the body the young man had been occupying for the first eighteen years of his life was dead, the spirit inside had been gone long enough that its systems had shut down, unable to handle the strain of working against the virus when the person who owned it had already checked out. So, the feline rested his cheek in the dirt, forcing his tail to twitch passed the broken vertebrae, and hoped that he was right about Ichigo.

"C'mon, Kitten, follow me home. Don' get lost in th' sands. Yer stronger'n that." He murmured, closing his eyes against the burn in his throat and chest.

The next thing he knew there was a pale orange covering his vision and a familiar reiatsu working over his wounds. He opened an eye, unaware when exactly he'd closed them, to see the woman he'd kidnapped so long ago kneeling over him. Her magic shield thing with her healing fairies was doing its stuff, healing the scratches and bruises in spite of the dampener around his neck.

"Whacha doin', woman?" He grumbled. "They'll get pissed if they see ya helpin' me."

"Stay still." Was all she said, concentrating.

Another female voice, one he only knew from training to reclaim his current form, broke the silence, "Not all of us believe that you are guilty of homicide, Jaegerjaques-san."

"Grimmjow." The feline corrected absently.

"Most of us believe that you have been treated cruelly by a grieving father who does not seem capable of seeing the whole picture." Urahara entered his field of vision, pushing the brim of his hat up with the end of his cane. "You've got quite a story to tell, Espada-san. Return Ichigo-kun to us, and perhaps others will be more willing to hear it."

His shackles disconnected from the ground and popped off his wrists just as Orihime called her fairies back. The collar stayed on though. The Hollow hybrid touched it absently, and looked around. Beyond the ones who'd spoken, several of the Shinigami and Visoreds who had been part of the Candy Land ruse were standing around him. They all seemed to have the same attitude about them, distant but more withdrawn into themselves than deliberately antagonistic with him. Their scent was that of people grieving, and he nodded, knowing what they wanted of him.

Then he had arms around his chest, and Yuzu was burying her tear-streaked face against his front, "Bring Nii-chan home, Grimm-nii. He doesn't know how worried we are for him."

Grimmjow smirked softly, running his claws through her bangs, "Count on it, Zuzu."

He pulled away from her, and the others, meeting eyes with each of them. Urahara had given him the key to go undetected in Hueco Mundo, and a streak of bluish-white passed his ear to rip the Garganta for him, launched from a reishi bow at the back of the gathered traitors. He gave a short nod and took off on all fours through the empty nothingness that separated the Living World from the sands of his home.

"Ya really think he can find him, Kissu?" The leader of the Visored spoke what they all were thinking watching the feline's back.

The shopkeeper tucked his hands into the sleeves of his yukata, shading his eyes with his hat. "Let's hope so, Shin-chan. For his sake."

The newly re-appointed captain sighed, and exchanged a look with his comrades. Every single one of them was certain that all hell would break loose if the Espada-cum-Visored failed in his mission to recover their missing Strawberry, especially if Kisuke and Restu were correct in their calculations regarding the infection the pair carried.

As soon as the Garganta closed, Grimmjow was racing through sands he'd never thought he'd miss with a relished freedom he hadn't felt in almost two years. The dunes flew by; crystalline trees the only landmarks under the shining crescent moon. He lowered himself close to the ground to streak in black and cerulean through the shadows, tail and hair streaming out behind him. The ruins of Las Noches grew quickly out of the horizon as he tore over the shifting landscape, and as he drew closer he caught the unmistakable scent of his quarry. A prey he had never given up chasing, and had pledged to always hunt, no matter how long or which form they both took.

He saw the Visored-cum-Arrancar before he was in speaking range, and was hauled up short when his nose was assaulted with the stench of blood. Not fresh blood, rotten, sick, decaying blood. He skidded to a stop, spraying sand against the walls of the ruin, and took to two feet, picking carefully through bodies he didn't recognize. Not Hollows, though they wore masks. He bent down and sniffed one only to flail back hissing.

"They're HUMANS!"

"They were Quincy they said." Came the berry's tired voice. Too tired. His eyes were weary amber instead of bright gold, and his skin was sallow with sickness. "Installed themselves as rulers here while you were gone. Some Bach guy tried to play the 'I knew your mother' card, but Shiro wasn't having any of it."

He looked up, coming closer on unsteady feet. He was no longer in Vasto Lorde form. There were streaks of red under his left eye, and his hair was longer, brushing his shoulders. His kosode was in shreds and there were bloodstains littering his exposed skin. Zangetsu, back where the blade belonged, hung limply from his hand in the old man's slender bankai shape, and the edges of his hakama were ragged. The only other sign that Ichigo was more than the Shinigami he'd been during the Winter War was the dark marking across his chest, where his Arrancar form's Hollow hole belonged.

"Hafta tell the Quincy 'bout it." Grimm commented, kicking a body that looked like something out of a bad horror movie.

Ichigo looked confused.

"The other Quincy. In the human world? With the stick up his ass?"

"Oh, Ishida, yeah. He'll want to know we're apparently cousins." The redhead rubbed the back of his neck and stumbled into the wall, Zangetsu clattering against the stone. "Ugh. Grimm… I don't… don't feel… so… good…"

The feline Visored  _sonido'd_  to his mate, scooping the ginger half-Hollow up into his arms with all the care of an injured fraccion. "Easy, Kitten."

"C'n we go home?"

"I'm afraid not, Kurosaki-san." The new voice came from around the corner of the wall, and the captain of the Fourth smiled sadly. "Your reiatsu chambers are seriously depleted due to the nature of your rejuvenation and the virus you unfortunately did not leave behind with your mortal body. I assure you both that no harm will come to you while you are within my care. Not even the Central 46 dares to interrupt my healing process, and as you are both listed as terminally ill, they will never be able to put a hand on you."

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow, his ears slicking back against his neck, and his tail lashed behind him. "If there's one thing I've learned from livin' in the Human World, it's TONSTAFL. There ain't no such thing as a free lunch. What's yer angle, Shinigami? What'd'ya want from us fer lettin' ya take us back ta Soul Society?"

Unohana stepped closer, showing that she was effectively unarmed, though they both knew that she was a master in the demonic arts. She held up her hands, palms facing outward, "Besides your actual cooperation in this, I have three requests. One, that I am allowed to take over as your primary caregiver in replacement of your Living World doctor. Two, that you both allow Urahara-san to assist me in researching your particular ailment, since it is both alike and dissimilar to Ukitake-san's own illness in that it seems to affect your soul forms as well as your gigai. And finally, three, I would like very much that you attend a support group I run among the Shinigami. The last request is entirely voluntary and your participation does not affect your protection under my services at all. However, I feel you would both greatly benefit from being there, and interacting with the others." She smiled sweetly, though there was an undercurrent implying that she was going to get her way whether they agreed or not. "Does this sound reasonable?"

Silence stretched among them. Small movements from behind the powerful captain betrayed the presence of her trusted fourth seat, Hanataro. If Ichigo was honest, the shy Shinigami put him more at ease than any offer of protection or aid from Unohana. So he looked up at his mate, and nodded, his eyes drifting closed with exhaustion.

"Fine. We'll come wit' ya."

Unohana was glad to hear it, smiling more kindly than she had been. Then she drew Minazuki and didn't tear the fabric between worlds so much as coax it open gently, as though her blade was a key. She gestured to Hanataro, and he bowed, grinning at Ichigo. There was a pause before he ran into the Garganta where he turned to flash that smile over his shoulder.

"I'm really glad you're back, Ichigo-san. A lot of us really missed you."

Then he was gone, laying down the smoothest reiatsu path either half-Hollow had ever seen.

The captain of the Fourth brought up the rear, probably to ensure that both debilitated males actually followed through on their agreement with her. It made Grimmjow nervous to be followed by the Shinigami captain, especially one that he could clearly tell was hiding the same sort of bloodlust he shared with his kitten just under the surface of that mask of warmth and healing. Nevertheless, he stuck close to his mate, and even though he knew neither one of them would last long on their own, he was primed and ready to steal Ichigo back to Hueco Mundo at the first sign of trouble.

Emerging into Soul Society put him even further on edge. He'd never been there personally, but considering what most Shinigami thought about Hollows, he felt well within his rights to be… not nervous, just wary. Yeah. He wasn't scared, just alert for threats. The lashing of his tail was a warning sign that he was a hair's breadth away from losing his temper, not from running away. And he certainly did NOT jump when Ichigo put his hand on the feline's shoulder.

The orangette's snickering was cut short, however, with the appearance of the Onmitsukidou and their captain. Both half-Hollows tensed further, Ichigo's nerves transferring through his hand and his reiatsu, heavy and a touch angry. It drew a growl from deep within the already fidgety Sexta.

They were understandably surprised when Soi Fon bowed, her troops kneeling behind her. "Orders from Lady Yoruichi-sama. The Stealth Force are to ensure safe travel for the newly reinstated Shinigami-daikou, Kurosaki Ichigo and his companion to private quarters within the Shihoin family grounds for treatment and lodging for the duration of their stay in Soul Society."

She stood again, the ninja behind her following suit. The familiar touch of disdain was somehow reassuring, but there was none of the explicit hostility Ichigo had come to expect from the rigid captain of the Second.

"That will be gratefully appreciated, Soi Fon-san." Unohana commented with yet another smile.

A small nod of her head, and the waspish Shinigami turned to Ichigo himself. "Contrary to popular belief, Kurosaki, there are many Shinigami who are well aware of the importance of your part in the Winter War. We are quite glad you have returned in one piece."

As one, at some hidden signal, her subordinates scattered to secure the path from the Main Senkaimon to an outlying building decorated with the Shihoin family crest. At that time of night, there weren't many Shinigami about, but the few that were had been drawn by the opening of the main gate. So as the four of them walked every so often there would be a strangled cry of confusion to either side, indicating that someone had attempted to breech the invisible barrier the Onmitsukidou had decided was the safe zone around Seireitei's guests.

Halfway there Ichigo stumbled, Zangetsu—still in bankai—clattered to the ground as one of his hands flew to his chest and the other reached for Grimm. The feline was quick to support him, but his own reiatsu wasn't much better off, fading all the more rapidly for being in his Resurrection on top of the collar still about his neck. The orangette was fighting a cough, the spasm clear on the surface of his shoulders and in the way he gripped his lover's hand. All at once he released his hold on his bankai, unable to maintain the kind of tight control he needed to compress the meat cleaver into its daito form.

Seconds later Hanataro was there with some kind of device that looked like it would fit better into a science fiction show than the late Edo-era level of technology most of the Seireitei used. Vaguely Ichigo registered that Urahara must have had something to do with it an instant before it was stabbing into his neck. The soft hiss it gave off was entirely covered by his cry; his teeth clenched as reishi flooded his system forcibly.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" The tiny medic fell over himself to apologize, his patient drawing measured breaths through the pain.

Grimmjow growled, "Oi!" He was restrained from hurting the Shinigami, but only because his mate was clinging to his arm. He still tried though, spitting and hissing like a wildcat, "What's in that thing?! What'd ya do ta Kitten!? Shinigami, ya better answer me! What the—AUGH!"

The Arrancar-cum-Visored's shout cut off when Unohana performed the same sort of procedure on him from behind, having used her Fourth Seat to disguise her movements. Both half-Hollows turned on her and almost growled before their eyes, at just about the same moment, rolled up into their heads and they crashed like ragdolls to the stone walkway below. A pair of stretchers, borne by Onmitsukidou members, appeared out of the shadows to gather the unconscious young men off the ground. Then they were whisked off down the street at top speed, as no one knew how long the sedatives would last.

"You know they're going to be quite upset when they wake, Retsu-chan."

A shadow separated itself from the wall and pushed its hat up with its folded fan, revealing an unabashed grin framed by dirty blond hair. Unohana smiled back sweetly.

"Patients often do not know what is best for them. I should think they shall be more upset with you once they discover that this was entirely your machinations at work, Kisuke-kun."

The shopkeeper feigned being hurt, his fan flipping open to hide his grin. "Mah, you wound me, Retsu-chan."

"All of this is well and good, but some of us have jobs to return to." Soi Fon cut across their banter with a scowl.

The captain of the Fourth at least had the decency to look slightly apologetic as she inclinded her head, "Yes, thank you, Soi Fon-san, without your surveillance I don't know that we would have been able to track Kurosaki-san and Jaegerjaques-san. If they have been settled into their new accommodations, then by all means, you and your team are free to go with my appreciation. Give Yoruichi-san my gratitude as well if you would."

The smile that sent her on her way caused a barely suppressed shudder to run through the stoic ninja captain before she disappeared into the night again.

From the lead medic's elbow, a nervous voice piped up, "Taicho, shall I take the first watch?"

"Yes, thank you, Hanataro-kun. Notify me as soon as they wake."

Sunlight, warm and soothing, drew Ichigo from his slumber with a gentle caress over his face, by which he of course meant that someone threw the curtains wide open, driving daylight into both half-Hollows' eyes. Flailing, hissing and growling followed as Grimmjow shoved his lover slightly to the side so he could hide his face in the orangette's shadow. Said ginger groaned at that and shielding his eyes dared to crack one so he could identify who was going to be on the receiving end of his very first getsuga tensho once he regained his strength.

The sight that greeted him, which he should have expected given the list of Shinigami brave enough to risk his temper that early in the morning, was that of a certain dark-haired midget, hands on her hips and a grin that made him fling his arm back over the rest of his face growling more loudly.

"Ugh… Rukia…"

"Imma kill her." Grimmjow mumbled, "Straight through the fuckin' gut. Fer good this time."

"Not if I get to her first."

"GOOD MORNING, ICHIGO!" She sang, unfazed by either of their death threats.

When the blanket disappeared the younger's dash into a seated position was all that stopped the elder from following it off the bed, murder in his eyes. He bared his teeth, sharpened by the continued presence of his Resurrection.

"Does the word 'sick' mean nothin' ta you, Shinigami?!"

Rukia closed her eyes and tilted her head condescendingly, "The Sotaicho will be here in an hour, you have until then to prepare for your debriefing. Do you not appreciate the warning?"

"I'm gonna appreciate the motherfuckin'…" The blue-haired cat trailed off in a string of curses Ichigo wasn't entirely sure were all in the same language as he rolled back into the pillows, tail lashing.

He was stuck in that form, unable to seal Pantera back into her sword. Both half-Hollows hoped that Unohana had an explanation because the way it was looking, he wasn't going to be able to do it on his own. It made everything more complicated; the blades on his arms and legs inflexible and required a certain amount of care to avoid slicing through things like sheets, pillows, his boyfriend…

It was just one more thing on his list of stupid shit that was never an issue before stupid Shinigami came along and, "opened the fuckin' window!"

Ichigo and Rukia jumped at the sound of his voice again. It made a smile tug at his lips. Apparently he'd dozed off without realizing it because his mate was dressed in fresh track pants with wet hair and had a thick slice of bread slathered with some kind of fruit paste halfway to his mouth. Between the orangette's stunned confusion and the Kuchiki midget's poorly-disguised agitation, Grimmjow actually did laugh.

He found the motivation to get out of bed thanks to that and it was just as he emerged from his own shower, intent on spraying Rukia with a shake of his dripping fur, when someone knocked on the bungalow's door.

Tension grew in the air as the brunette female ducked around the wall to the genkan. Ichigo looked to Grimmjow and the Arrancar-turned-Visored shrugged, rubbing at his mane of hair with a towel. He donned a simple yukata and flopped into a chair next to the Western-styled table.

"Whatever he wants, ya can handle it, Kitten."

"Not the point, Grimm, what if he's—"

Ichigo was cut off by Rukia's return and further by the three people who had accompanied her. Yamamoto, as imposing as ever, stood at the edge of the combined living/sleeping area flanked by Unohana and Urahara, but even the Geta-Boshi's reassuring smile did little to ease the orangette's nerves regarding his grandfather's appearance. Fully intimidated by the sotaicho, he did the only thing his instincts were telling him to do, and promptly sat on top of his boyfriend's lap, vaguely dizzy and somewhat nauseous.

Unohana made a small noise in the general's ear and his eyebrows rose in response. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight ever so slightly to the side. "Kurosaki Ichigo, I believe it is customary to invite one's guests to relieve themselves of standing upon first entering one's dwelling, is it not?"

"What? Oh! Yeah. Com-come in, have a seat? Uh. We've only just got coffee and toast, but uhh…" He floundered, and elbowed his other half in the solar plexus when he felt the blue feline snickering.

The apprehension decreased when, at Ichigo's invitation, both Unohana and Urahara stepped around the sotaicho to approach the pair at the other end of the table. Ichigo kept an eye on his grandfather while the captain of the Fourth opened his mouth, felt the sides of his neck, and ran a crystal over his chakras. He felt Urahara subjecting Grimmjow to the same examination and minutely relaxed because if Yamamoto was allowing the exiled captain to work freely with his primary healer then there was less of a chance that he was here to arrest them both or turn them over to the Twelfth for Mayuri's experiments.

As soon as both shinigami were finished with them, they turned to the general and nodded, though granted Kisuke's smile was warmer than Retsu's. Yamamoto returned the nod and took a seat across the table from the half-Hollows.

"Kurosaki. Jaegerjaques. It has come to my attention that there was an altercation in the ruins of Los Noches. Something regarding a collection of humans that had what appeared to be a hybrid of Quincy and Hollow powers. What can you tell me about it?" His tone was direct and non-accusatory, but carried the implication that were he to be displeased with the answer it would be a very, very, bad thing.

Ichigo looked at Grimm, and shrugged looking back at the general. "There was some guy there that looked a lot like Old Man Zangetsu and he was building an army. I'm sorry I don't have a lot of clear details, Shiro was in control at the time." He blanched, hoping that wouldn't come back to haunt him. "But they looked like they had plans to storm Soul Society, with these weird device things that one of them said was to steal people's bankai. He tried to use it on me, but it didn't work, probably because at the time I don't think I counted as Shinigami to their instruments. I, uh, I'd like to say I had more information, but, um, Shiro…"

"He fires first an' asks questions later." Grimmjow purred, filling in the pause when his mate grew uncomfortable.

The general nodded, "Hm. Go on."

"There isn't much else to tell I don't think." The orangette looked to each of the others, clearly nervous. "They attacked me, I fought back. Er, well, Shiro fought back. I just sort of let him do it."

"And were any left alive at the end of your altercation?" Yamamoto rumbled.

Ichigo hesitated, fighting the urge to squirm, and torn between embarrassed and angered by the implications. In the end, he growled, looking away. "No."

"I see." The elder nodded, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Then we come to the most important question I have regarding this trouble."

The air in the room grew heavier still. Grimmjow wrapped his arms around his mate as if that would keep whatever the sotaicho was about to say from hurting him, and Ichigo let him, though internally he was daring the old man to declare him a monster, unfit for Shinigami company, and either cast them out into the sands of Hueco Mundo or lock them up for being criminals until they could figure out a way to konso them both back into being pluses. Rukia unconsciously leaned closer to the pair, her hands clasped only to keep her from wringing them. Urahara hid his face behind his fan in an effort to disguise what Ichigo was sure was a scowl building between his eyebrows. And Unohana very subtly bit her lip, a tiny shiver in her cheeks as the only disturbance in her mask of composure. Her patients' very lives were on the line.

Everyone leaned in when Yamamoto inhaled, "Are you alright?"

"WHAT?!" Grimmjow had to hold the youngest even tighter as he tried to jump out of his seat. "What the hell do you mean 'am I alright', old man!? You come in here, with your attitude and your secret forces—don't tell me they aren't outside I can sense them—and your interrogation and your whatever the hell those crystal things do, and then you have to nerve to ask if I'm alright?! What the Hell!"

The general blinked. "Did you think you were to be punished, Ichigo?"

The orangette's steam was cut short and he sagged some against his boyfriend, "Honestly? …yes."

"You may be an impulsive, reckless, hot-headed child, but you are equally incredibly powerful, and have proven to me personally on multiple occasions that being your ally is far more intelligent than being your adversary. You have fought for the Court of Pure Souls more times than you should ever have had to considering where you actually come from and your bloodline. Time and again you have stepped forward when all others would have turned away, sacrificing your humanity, your health, and your personal well-being to ensure that your friends were kept safe from harm and their injuries paid back to those who had dared harm them in the first place. This most recent threat was one even the Stealth Force was unaware of before your reiatsu appeared there. In short, my boy, Seireitei owes you a great debt. You and your Espada friend there." Yamamoto frowned slightly. "In fact, there seems to be some misunderstanding regarding my visit here."

A small chuckle came from the captain of the Fourth as she moved about the kitchen mixing herbs into a pot of boiling water. The sound drew Ichigo, Grimmjow and Rukia's attention, and Urahara tipped his hat up to reveal he was not scowling as Ichigo had previously thought, but smiling, and had been hiding it so as to maintain the atmosphere of secrecy. The Visored lashed out with his foot, intent on kicking the shopkeeper in the knee but the blond was more agile than that, laughing as he dodged the blow.

"B-but, Yamamoto-sotaicho," Rukia had to lean on the back of one of the unoccupied chairs to steady herself, "if you aren't here to debrief Ichigo about the Quincy then why are you here?!"

"I'll forgive your impertinence, Kuchiki-fukutaicho, provided that you hold your tongue." Business may not have been why he was there, but his tone brokered no disrespect from subordinates. He turned back to the half-Hollows, "I am here to pay my respects to my grandson. He did just die after all. Or has the Kuchiki house fallen into such disrepair that they no longer practice the tradition of greeting one's relatives upon mortal death?"

"G-grandson?!" She blurted before she could stop herself.

"Yeah." Having burned most of his energy in his previous outburst, Ichigo slumped back against Grimmjow tired but relaxed, his previous worry dismissed.

"Whatcha mean grandson, Kitten?"

The orangette looked up, "I told you in Hueco Mundo, that Quincy told me who my mom was, Kurosaki Masaki. She was a Quincy, and my dad took her last name when he married her."

"Then who was your dad before he was your dad?" Rukia frowned, confused even further by the apparent shared mirth between Kisuke and Retsu behind her.

"Kurosaki Isshin, before he retired from the Seireitei, was Shiba Isshin, Captain of the Tenth Division." Yamamoto rumbled. "The Shiba clan was once one of the four great noble houses. It lost its status when the clan leader seemingly abandoned his post for the living world twenty years ago."

"But, Yama-jii," Ichigo asked, "you're part of Clan Shiba too, couldn't you have stopped them from dishonoring us?"

The old man shook his head, as Unohana set out tea for everyone. "As sotaicho of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, I could not involve myself with familial matters. The Shiba council of elders would have heard the defense of my son, but the other three houses would not."

"Kuchiki would have sided with you, Sotaicho!" Rukia insisted, slamming her hands on the table.

Silence reigned as Yamamoto gave the young Shinigami a long look, effectively raising an eyebrow without actually doing so. She sat back down again, mollified, and sighed.

"You know as well as I that the Kuchiki clan elders are some of the most rigid in the whole of Soul Society. You have only just been recognized and allowed to wear the ornaments of your station and you have been a member of that house for nearly forty-two years. No, there was nothing we could have done, and even if the topic were brought up now, it would fall on Ichigo's head to lead the clan, which would be a disservice to both Ichigo and Kukaku."

Rukia looked to Ichigo and Grimmjow and the orangette shrugged, scratching an itch on the inside of his ear. "Ah, I wouldn't wanna be head of a clan anyway. It's bad enough having to be in charge of what dance I was gonna do each night for work."

"You idiot!"

The midget shinigami lashed out to smack him across the back of the head with a shout, but the feline's reflexes caught her hand before she landed the blow. Everyone in the room tensed. Grimmjow bared his teeth then tossed her wrist away with a sound of disgust, and Ichigo covered up his spike in fear by pushing at the arm curled tightly around his waist, affecting agitation. Similarly, Unohana adjusted her braid as cover-up for how she'd allowed her grip to drift close to Minazuki, and Yamamoto relaxed his knuckles from around the staff hiding Ryuujin Jakka. Rukia herself sat back down in her chair, stunned and slightly hurt by the Arrancar's over-reaction.

"Yare yare, what a temper you have there, Espada-san." Kisuke swung Benehime by her handle loosely.

"Grimmjow." The cat corrected absently.

The shopkeeper continued on as though he hadn't heard, "Speaking of that, Ichigo-san. You're missing an awful lot of hours being dead don't you think?"

The Visored's head snapped up, "What?"

"Well, I can't very well pay you if you aren't on my stage dancing, now can I?" Urahara grinned as the gears started to click in his student's head. "And you have broken your contract with Mr. Pink by dying. It means my club is out an awful lot of money due to your untimely demise. I'm afraid I may have to enact my right as an employer and replace you."

"You're Mr…"

"It took ya that long ta figure it out, Kitten?" Grimmjow snorted, relaxed again now that there was no immediate threat to his mate. "I knew ya were dense but that's just 'bout takes th' cake."

"Oi! I was preoccupied." Red flushed across the deathberry's cheeks and ears. "And I couldn't sense reiatsu at all back then."

"Ya never could sense worth a damn."

Rukia laughed and Ichigo flipped her off. Even Retsu covered a smile with her tea cup while Kisuke laughed alongside Grimmjow, loud and heartily. He was about to retort again when his grandfather banged his staff on the floor.

"I believe getting to the point would be a good idea, Urahara."

"Hai, you are correct as usual, Yama-jii-san." The blond swept off his hat in a mock bow which went unacknowledged, and turned to face the half-Hollows directly. "Put succinctly, it was always a plan of ours to jumpstart your powers again by re-severing your soul chain and effectively killing off your human body, Ichigo. The virus you contracted worked in our favor that way, but none of us anticipated it happening as quickly as it did." Kisuke paused as if he was expecting one of them to interrupt. When they didn't he waved his hand as if to dismiss the whole thing. "Regardless, your gigai is ready for you at my shop. Had things gone according to plan you'd have woken up in it without ever being the wiser, but seeing as certain aspects became impossible to control…well…I'll spare you the sordid details."

He giggled and waved his fan when Grimmjow growled, taking umbrage with being called either an 'uncontrollable aspect' or a 'sordid detail'.

Ichigo looked confused, "So, wait a minute. You're telling me I've been working for you this whole time? And everybody else knew about it?" He glanced at the others for confirmation. "How many people?"

"Hm?" Urahara's eyebrows went up.

"How many people knew?"

"Oh. I'd imagine all of them really. You've made a great deal of friends across the board, Ichigo. It was hard choosing which ones were going to play the parts of new faces to keep you in the dark."

"But why?" There was real anguish in his voice as he leaned on the table, in spite of his boyfriend trying to hold him back. "Why not just tell me?! I should've known! I could've—"

"Could have what, Ichigo?" Rukia asked quietly.

The orangette looked around at the people surrounding him again and shook his head, denying what they were implying. That he'd have flown off the handle; run away; been alienated and depressed every time they had to face down an enemy he could no longer even sense, let alone see or fight. The worst part was the Old Man rumbled in the back of his mind that they'd been right, and Shiro agreed, his king was too impulsive to have been trusted with the knowledge when he was powerless to help them. It boiled and made the skies of his inner world rumble with barely suppressed rage. Grimmjow tried to rub his back, but he shook him off with a harsh jerk of his shoulder.

Looking slightly hurt, the feline appealed to their common sense of the Now, "Kitten. What difference does it make? You needed to be protected."

The subject of their focus whipped around to glare at the other half-Hollow, "Were you in on this too?! Was all of… of  _this_  part of it?" He gestured between them.

Before the Arrancar could answer, Unohana placed a kido-infused hand on the Visored's shoulder. "Kurosaki-san."

A wash of cool, relaxing reiatsu washed down his spine from neck to tailbone, and he slumped, panting, having been unaware of the strain he was putting on his body. He felt it then, a dull ache held back only by the healer's touch. Leaning into his boyfriend's chest, he was only vaguely aware of the others speaking around him.

"We'll take him back to the living world, and help him settle into the gigai. A return to normalcy is what's best for now. Until we can determine exactly what it is that's going on with his reiatsu."

"Very good, keep me informed of how everything goes. I don't particularly enjoy having been kept in the dark alongside my grandson during your experiments, Urahara."

"Of course, Sotaicho-san."

"But, Urahara-san, What of…"

"He won't be a problem, I guarantee it."

"He better fuckin' not be."

"Shh, you'll wake him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd that's it!! The end of Part 1 formerly Part 2. Happy GrimmIchi Day!! I'll see you all in Part 3. Hope you liked it. Ja ne!


End file.
